


Losing

by Green_Sphynx



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Angst, Gore, M/M, Mild Gore, Mutilation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-17 00:44:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 29,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1367641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Sphynx/pseuds/Green_Sphynx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of drabbles about Ja'far losing things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eyes and Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write a drabble about losing eyesight, and it resulted in the start of a set of drabbles of Ja'far losing various things. I'm not sure whether I'm going to write some follow-up drabbles to these, or if they are all going to be unrelated to each other. Then again, there's only so many things Ja'far can lose...
> 
> Warnings: (Light) gore, Sinja pairing and mistakes in my English
> 
> I do not own any of these characters
> 
> Important note: Each drabble with a new title is a seperate story, unrelated to the other drabbles.

_Eyes_

He could sense the people passing by. Many people, some walking fast, some strolling leisurely. They were just there, a few steps away from him, all passing by.

Yet he couldn't reach.

He could feel the warmth of his blood where it was forming a puddle around his hands. He might've taken his hands off the ground to avoid tainting them even darker, but he needed the stability.

Tears of blood rolling down his cheeks, his regrets and his joy all mingling together in warm stickiness smelling like iron.

The smell of his own blood was overpowering, but even then he could still smell the remains of fish, rotten fruit and cooked cabbage. He could smell the places where dogs had relieved themselves, scattered around him. The two large bodies slowly cooling down behind him. It was clear he was in just any alley, the people of the city bustling by right outside.

He could sense the person entering the alley. He could hear the soft panting and feel the distress. Yet tilting his head down towards his king merely resulted in more bloody tears, more warmth, more of his life running down his cheeks.

"Ja'far!"

"Sin." He acknowledged softly with cracked lips. He tried to wet them with his tongue, but the metallic taste he received told him he only painted his lips in red with this action.

"Good Gods, what happened? We need to get you to a healer!"

Warm arms circled around him, trying to pick him up. He resisted.

"I lost them already, Sin," he told his king with a wavering voice. "It's no use. I will only be a bother."

"What are you saying?" He flinched, hearing genuine distress in his king's voice. Why then? He failed him. He went after those two men and killed them in cold blood, like Sinbad had forbidden him. And he lost. He was no longer of any use like this. He wasn't worthy.

"We need to stop the bleeding," Sinbad's voice sounded even more shaky than his own, and for a short moment he feared his king was injured too. That he had lost as much blood as he did himself.

But he was lifted in two strong arms, pulled close to a warm chest with a steady beating heart. Sin was healthy.

And he was no longer in any shape to resist.

He could feel a new warmness on his face. Tears. Actual tears. His king was crying for him, shaking as he held his weakened body close.

"Please don't bother with me Sin," he told him gently. "I am no longer of any use to you. It's fine if you leave me here."

"Idiot!"

He flinched, a new stab of pain at the contorting of his face.

"I'm taking you to the palace now." A hesitation. "I'll just... I'll just cover your face, so the people won't be scared when they look at you."

"As you wish, my king," he submitted weakly. He had lost too much blood, sitting there in that alley. He no longer had the strength to argue.

But he only dared to lose consciousness when the soft fabric of Sinbad's turban touched his eyeless face.

...

_Hands_

"Tsk!"

The large man looked down at him unimpressed, instead only pulling the wires in his grasp tighter. He was wearing thick leather gloves and didn't seem bothered by the sharp cut of the wires.

Ja'far on the other hand had the wires circled right around his bare wrists.

Never before had anyone tried to use his own weapon against him, but this man was surprisingly successful. With a large foot on the middle of his chest and a whole lot weight, he easily held down the small body of the government official. His arms were stretched to their limits, the wires pulled taut by the man's large hand. Ja'far would've kicked his legs, but a shortage of air made his vision swim.

He didn't even understand how he got here.

All he had been doing was walking quietly over the bazaar. Remarkably relaxed, if he did say so himself. He had been checking on a couple of people who sold heavy orange vegetables when he was called. A large man asking him to walk along for a moment.

He wasn't given a good reason, and he was suspicious. But unlike most people, that only made him more sure about following the man.

Such a mistake.

When he realised he was in danger - as soon as they entered the alley - he had pulled out his knives, but instead of cutting the man with a warning sharpness, both wires were grabbed right behind the blade. A foot was planted on his chest and he found himself strung up tidy and well.

He wondered is his shoulders were going to dislocate.

He had long lost the feeling in his hands, the strings cutting sharp edges into his wrists. Delicate lines of blood seeped down the wires on his arm, red trailing red over white. The man seemed in no hurry to change this, patiently waiting for Ja'far to give in.

He wasn't giving in just yet.

He couldn't struggle, no matter how much he wished. But he could remain tense, ready for attack the moment the man dropped his hands or lifted his foot. He might not be able to struggle, but just one person needed to enter the alley and there would be alarm, the man forced to let him go.

_Only, that one person wasn't coming._

He hissed, his vision blurring. He could see his hands slowly darkening. No longer red. No longer purple. They were starting to turn black.

His trembling arms ached dully, all sharp pains long since gone. He heaved for air, his eyes stinging with unshed tears.

His hands.

He lost them.

Only then the man dropped the wires, and his arms dropped to the sides on his body as dead weights. He couldn't even feel where they hit the gravelly floor.

The foot lifted from his chest, but he couldn't gather the strength to get up. He couldn't gain the momentum, even if he wanted to. His arms were useless, his hands were dead.

The man slowly unsheathed a sword, lifting it above him and taking aim without any hurry. His face was impassive, like he couldn't really care. He couldn't really care he was assassinating one of the best assassins he'd ever meet.

And therefore, Ja'far wouldn't let him.

With a fast flick of his leg he twisted the wire around his ankle, smoothly sending the blade up into the man's back. He stumbled, surprised.

The other foot took care of the second wire, the blade tucked between his toes when he cut open the artery in the man's thigh with practiced precision.

Even when you used his own weapons against him, Ja'far hadn't lost yet. He didn't need his hands for simple tasks like these.

He lost his hands. But never his life.


	2. Voice and Hands 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second drabble is a continuation of Hands in the previous chapter. The first one stands on its own, unrelated to the other drabbles. I'll number the continuation drabbles so they are recognisable.

_Voice_

It had been amazingly stupid. He had no idea how he had made the mistake, and he was ashamed to even show his face in front of his king. But rather than waiting for him to recover, his king came to see him.

It had seemed like such an innocent cup of water, brought to him by a servant. He didn't even think about it. He didn't even notice it was a new face. He just took a swig to wet his parched throat without second thought.

He should've smelled the acidic liquid from miles away.

It burned down his throat like fire, and he immediately choked on it. It saved his entire oesophagus from being burned out, but it did catch his trachea instead.

He had been unable to breath for the longest of time, and only when he started blacking out Masrur had busted in with Yamraiha under his arm. From what he could tell now - hours after the whole thing took place when he woke up in his own bed - Yamraiha had pierced his throat to create a new path for air, before trying to heal up the damaged tissue inside his mouth and upper throat.

He wondered if she succeeded.

He couldn't feel a thing inside his mouth, nor his throat. He could move his tongue, but only by pressing it into his teeth harshly he could feel it. The skin of his tongue felt dead. The insides of his cheeks, his palate, his throat. They all felt dead. And testing with his fingers, he found them too smooth, like burn scars.

He would've been troubled by the prospect of never tasting anything again if he hadn't tried to _ask_.

Because when he tried to _ask_ , he found out there was no longer a voice coming from his throat.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you," Yamraiha told him, looking anxious. "The liquid burned a lot, and I barely managed to make it stop bleeding. I can't restore your sense of taste, nor your vocal cords. And you'll have trouble eating for a while." She studied him closely. "I suppose breathing must hurt too, right now."

She was right about that. But it didn't bother him. The freezing burn of air passing his damaged throat was more soothing than anything else. No, what bothered him was that he couldn't respond.

"Ja'far, what happened back there?"

He gave his king a helpless look, before turning away. How could he face him? How could he look him in the eye after making such a basic mistake?

"I'm afraid Ja'far will no longer be able to talk," Yamraiha told their king softly. Quietly, almost as if she were trying to spare Ja'far's feelings. But unlike his voice, his ears were still working perfectly fine.

He was expecting Sin to look disappointed in him. No, he _hoped_ Sin would be disappointed in him. Because he deserved at least that much punishment. He deserved to be relieved from his post and sent away, for allowing himself to almost be killed was the crudest of mistakes.

But he knew his king wouldn't do that.

Instead, Sinbad sat on the edge of Ja'far's bed, reaching out a hand to cup his cheek.

"You look like hell," he murmured, before leaning in. Ja'far's heart fluttered and his body froze when his king's lips brushed over his. It hurt so lovely.

"Can you still feel that?" His king's tones were hushed, and Ja'far gave a tiny nod. He could feel it, and it hurt. Maybe this was better punishment. He'd have to learn how to live with his mistake himself, for his king wouldn't punish him directly.

The only sound he produced was a soft sniffle, before Sinbad kissed him again.

...

_Hands 2_

He didn't know. He didn't remember.

All he knew was when he woke up with a thumping headache and a heavy body, his hands were no longer there.

The last thing he remembered was the heavy body of a man trying to kill him falling on top of him, his hot blood soaking Ja'far's clothes fast. Everything had soon turned black after that, but he did remember his hands had been dead - but present.

But he woke up in the palace, and all there was left was two stumps covered in bandages, aching and hurting like they were freshly cut.

His fingers itched.

He knew what was going to happen now. Sin would come and say that he didn't have to worry. He would loiter about and make sure Ja'far was comfortable. He did so every time his advisor fell ill.

Only this time, Ja'far wasn't about to get better. Without hands, he was utterly useless. He could no longer open a scroll, or write notes, or carry a stack of papers to his king's study. He couldn't even fall back on his basic qualities and simply return to being an assassin.

All he was worth now was a dead weight in a bed. A mouth to feed. A long trusted vassal turned veteran to worry about. Sin wouldn't let him go.

So he knew he had to leave by himself.

It bothered him he couldn't leave a note to help his king understand.

The room turned and twisted like a ship in a storm when he threw his legs off the edge of the bed. He refused to be intimidated and slowly rose to his feet. His vision grew dark, almost blackening out before returning to him. He'd lost too much blood.

Carefully he shuffled over to the corner of his room where he kept his clothes. Slipping into his shoes was easy, but he had some more trouble wrestling into his robes. He knew he'd have to settle with wearing his robes like an open coat, but it was much better than wandering out in just his nightshirt.

Managing to pull it somewhat closed and hiding his bandaged stumps in his sleeves, he stumbled through the door into the hallway. Nobody around. So far, so good.

He knew he wasn't quite capable of any form of stealth in his current condition, so he just had to hope he wouldn't run into anyone who knew about his condition, and use authority to get passed the rest.

"Oi, Ja'far. You look awful, what are you doing going around like that?"

He had gotten so far...

He turned to face Sharrkan, who actually had the nerve to look _worried_. "Just a little faint, nothing to worry about."

"A little faint? You look like a ghost! And I've never seen you walking around half undressed like that." Sharrkan stepped forward, frowning and reaching out to catch him.

Ja'far quickly stumbled a step back, not willing to be taken back by the swordsman when he was _almost_ outside. _Almost_ gone.

"Wait a minute... Weren't you carried in injured just yesterday?" It seemed to dawn on the other general's face - finally. "You shouldn't be walking around at all. Sin is not going to be happy when he finds out. Come on, let's get you back to bed."

"Don't touch me," he hissed at Sharrkan. "If you are worried about what Sin will say, tell him I left. I don't want to be any more of a bother than I am now, and the fool is not going to realise that by himself."

"But Sin..."

"...will learn to live with it," he cut in sharply. "And he'll be happier about it eventually. Now..."

He was cut off by two arms wrapping around him, suddenly lifting him up. He _squeaked_ \- surely he wouldn't have sounded so pathetic if it wasn't for his weakened state - and thrashed weakly.

"You're going back to bed." Sinbad stated with a voice that left no room for discussion. "If you really want to leave, I'll allow you to discuss the matter with me when you are capable of taking care of yourself again. Until then, you will be stuck here, and I'll have guards in front of your room if necessary."

"Let me go!" Ja'far hissed, thrashing about and knocking into his king's head with his elbows.

He stopped struggling immediately when he saw Sharrkan's paled face, staring at him.

"Your _hands_..."


	3. Eyes 2 and Arm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first drabble is a continuation again, the second one is new. I'm officially changing the warnings from slight gore to full gore now, and the rating from mature to explicit (just in case).

_ Eyes 2   
_

As much as everyone knew Ja'far could navigate the palace grounds blind, he'd never actually _done_ it before. Yet he was adamant about leaving his bedroom at dawn the very day the healers allowed him to. He knew Sin was informed he'd be allowed to leave his bed today, and he was likely going to take the day off from work to coddle Ja'far all over the place.

Ja'far would have none of it.

He'd love to find a way to get back to work, but he knew he wouldn't be of much use as he was. Maybe if he got used to being blind, he'd be able to take up a different task for his king. The first step to that was making sure he really did know the palace grounds as well as everyone thought.

Keeping a hand to the wall he made his way to the kitchens, feeling it would be wise to eat first while he was still recovering from the blood loss. Luckily there weren't many people around yet, this early in the morning. He could smell the relative crispness of the air that would soon swamp with oppressing heat as the day rolled around. The distinct feeling of air barely warmed by the sun just creeping over the palace walls on his lips and cheeks.

He scratched the bandages on his face irritably, cursing that he couldn't just _see_.

He could sense the person in front of him, walking towards him through the hallway. He straightened his back, set on not showing any weakness now. He had an image to uphold.

The large form didn't seem to want to pass him, instead heading straight for him. Masrur...?

His foot caught a drain and he tumbled forward with a suppressed cry. Hands were on him immediately, not allowing him to hit the floor.

His dignity had completed the tumble though.

"You alright?" Masrur's voice was dark and flat as always, but it was easy for Ja'far to detect the worry in it. Worry... _pity_.

"I just stepped wrong," he tried to brush it off, but Masrur wasn't letting him go.

"Let me walk you to the kitchen."

"Really Masrur, there's no need," he protested, already being lifted up onto a shoulder. "Please just put me down! If I don't do this for myself, I'll never learn how to walk around blindly!"

His honesty seemed to sway his fellow general, and he was put back on the floor. He could imagine his pride stinging like his empty eye sockets, but he was well aware Masrur didn't swallow any lies.

"At least let me walk with you."

"I don't wish to bother you," he answered - a bit too coldly, perhaps. "I know how to find my way."

"Please don't hurt yourself."

"I wasn't trying to."

Shuffling away from Masrur seemed successful. He could feel the man's stare burning on his back, but he was allowed to continue on by himself.

He sighed in relief, putting his feet down carefully. He wouldn't even have tripped if he hadn't been distracted by figuring out Masrur's presence. He needed to be more careful and not try to focus on too many things at the same time. He needed to _learn_ this first.

He reached the kitchens without another hitch, the only servant passing by him just greeting him politely. Politely, and curiously. _Why was Lord Ja'far wearing bandages over his eyes and shuffling through the palace in such an undignified manner?_

Reaching the kitchens was a relief, and he was glad to sag against the door. The small walk had been surprisingly tiring, taking all his concentration just to walk. He was glad he could sit down and eat something now.

He rose and stepped forward into the kitchen. "Anyone here?"

"Yes, my Lord. Would you like me to serve you - watch out!"

Just too late. He had grabbed the counter he knew was on his right side, not sensing the boiling hot pot standing there. With a cry he pulled back his burned hand, cradling it to his chest with an angered hiss.

The lady was on him with ice in mere seconds - probably she had been working with it then. Despite his angered state she tugged out his hand, cooling the burn with the ice.

He was such a helpless fool.

...

_Arm_

He blinked in surprise at the little feathered needle protruding from his chest. This was new...

His brain snapped back to attention a second later than it normally would've, and he glanced up to see his attacker. Of course, nobody was to be seen. Using a method like this, their attacker was likely hidden in one of the many buildings before them.

He pulled the needle from his skin - the poison slightly burning - and he swirled around to see his king. Unfortunately, Sinbad had been struck by surprise similar to himself, but was lacking the immunity for poisons his advisor had from years of working as an assassin.

How were they able to hit Sin?

His vision turned lightly, and he cursed. Whatever they shot him with, he wasn't completely immune to it. His king dropped like a sack of potatoes, and Ja'far stumbled a step back. He turned back around, trying to spot out his opponent again. He wouldn't allow Sin to get hurt.

Things were becoming slightly blurry, but even in that state he could see the man running towards him. With a practised move he sent his blades flying, piercing his attacker through the eye and through the throat. Reeling his blades back in, he barely sensed another man hurrying towards him from the side.

Turning made the world around him spin, and it took him a moment too long to react to the man with the swinging blade. He had to duck underneath the sharp metal, feeling his keffiyeh get caught. The light tug on his head shouldn't have affected him, but he lost balance either way. He only just managed to jolt back to his feet before the man was able to hit him, burying his blade in his attacker's arm pit and next his lung.

"You are a nasty one."

It was difficult to focus on the third man, who was calmly standing in front of him.

"We drug you, yet you kill both of my men like it's nothing. You should have been out like a light, just like your king."

Ja'far gave his best attempt at a glare, even though he could feel his face go slightly numb. The man was just winning time, waiting for Ja'far to collapse.

"Can't you just lay down like a good boy and sleep? I wouldn't even have killed you if you had done that immediately."

Ja'far shakily rose to his feet, swaying heavily along with the turning and twisting world. It was hard to see whether the man was right in front of him, or left, or right. Hell, he could be standing behind him and Ja'far had no idea. His swimming vision was slowly blackening out at the edges, and he knew he was running out of time.

He swung his blade around, at a height he knew was his opponents throat, in hopes that wherever the man actually stood, he'd hit him. The world swirled along with the blade, and Ja'far found himself face first on the ground.

The man chuckled. It didn't seem like Ja'far had hit him.

This position made it a little easier though. His vision was now limited to the floor and the foot right in front of his nose, so no matter how it swayed it was easy to locate the foot. The man screamed when Ja'far's blade dug into his ankle, ripping muscles apart and triggering a spray of blood.

Red. All red. Now he couldn't even see past the blood in his eyes.

He could sense the man swinging a sword, but he barely had the power to roll aside. The sword caught his swinging arm, ripping Ja'far's body back. He saw something bouncing off the floor, and more red. More and more and more, and his vision faded even further. He wanted to move his injured arm, but he didn't find any response apart from searing pain.

He rolled over, lifting his other arm. His head bumped into the man's legs, and that was all he needed to slash up, cutting open the length of the man's thigh and opening a shower of blood when he severed his artery. The man screamed and came down, so Ja'far could slash open his belly as well.

He couldn't see. Everything was red and black and he was covered in hot blood and slippery organs. He couldn't see his king.

He couldn't see his arm. The last thing he _could_ see was the stump where he was sure his arm had been before, wound in red wires and caught on a part of his attacker's intestine.


	4. Toes and Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two new drabbles this time, no continuations of previous ones. The first one is way more gruesome than the second one.

_Toes_

"Who would've thought we'd capture _you_ , of all people?"

Ja'far didn't honour the man with a response. Just a glare. An iron glare to smiling eyes, red as blood. _Ineffective_.

"I'm sure coming to a place like this, allowing yourself to be captured like this, you would just love to share some information with us?"

"Tch." Ja'far couldn't help the sneer, but the mockingly cheerful expression on the royal's face fell.

"No?"

A resounding smack filled the room when Ja'far was backhanded in the face. He could taste blood seeping between his teeth, but he wasn't impressed. Not by just this.

He spit out the blood before Ren Kouen's feet, smirking up at him in a silent insult.

The man bent over just slightly, only enough to grab Ja'far's face with strong fingers to pull him closer, their eyes connecting. "You only came here to insult me then?"

Well, he certainly didn't come here to get tied up and treated as a war prisoner. Political reasons, perhaps, but not like this.

"I'm sure you'll be more than willing to share your information with us soon enough."

He was flung back down on the hard ground, Kouen rising back to his full height to look down disdainfully on the white man painted with red. Ja'far didn't even feel the scratches on his face, nor the cuts and bruises scattered over his body. Ren Kouen might think he was hurting Sindria's first advisor, but he was sorely mistaken. Ja'far could take so much more. So _so_ much more.

"You don't seem to be scared?" It was a mock of a pout followed swiftly by a smirk. Just the tiniest movement of his hand was enough of a command, and Ja'far suddenly found himself reacquainted with the floor. The heavy hand smacking his face into the tiles was removed immediately, but Ja'far found he couldn't rise with one of his legs forcefully being tugged back. He lost balance and rolled onto his side.

He wasn't afraid, and therefore refused to struggle. Struggling meant giving in. Struggling meant he admitted Ren Kouen's power over him.

But he regretted not struggling.

A scream tore from his throat with the unexpected pain, the first sound this loud they had managed to make him let out. He tried to pull his foot out of the grasp of the man behind him, but his struggle only increased the pain. The sounds were sickening, and he had to bite his teeth until they screeched against each other to avoid repeating his scream. The saw cut through his flesh like soft butter, but it took repeated cuts to sever his bone. It must've been less than a minute, but the time it took to saw off just one of his toes felt like a lifetime of pain.

He thrashed his head against the stone floor, the coolness and hardness his only way of trying to gain back his control. The tiles were slick with tears and bloody saliva, but it wasn't important.

 _It wasn't important_.

"Feeling better now?"

His body trembled, fully aware his ankle was still in the firm grasp of the man behind him.

"If you still don't feel like talking, we might go onto the next toe. You have ten of them, after all."

He didn't make a sound. Not the whine threatening to spill from his lips, nor the grunt vibrating in his throat. His eyes were clenched shut, his forehead on the floor. Such a submissive pose. He couldn't keep this up.

_He would defy this man even if it took all his toes and fingers._

"Very well."

The pain was more expected now, and he refused to scream. He refused this man the sounds of his pain, just like he refused this man the information he was asking for.

Who did he think he was torturing? He was Ja'far, Chief of the best of Assassins before even hitting puberty! There was no way to get information out of him.

Yet the sickening sound of metal sawing through his bone reverberating from his toe up his leg forced a whimper out of him, muffled by the bloody wet tiles he pressed his face into. Ten had never seemed such an impressively large number for toes.

...

_Past_

He was confused. So terribly confused.

He was in a dark place, yet he could see the sun scorching the gravel of the road a few steps ahead. It was a smelly place too. Mould and shit and _blood_. He could smell it all. He could feel it all.

He looked at his brown stained clothes, wondering why he was so dirty. Why was he wearing such luxury clothes when he was going to get so dirty?

Moving his head made something on the back of his head crack. Lots of fabric, dark green, all over his head. Cracking. It seemed such soft fabric, why did it crack?

He gingerly reached up, touching the back of his head with dirty fingers. The fabric was hard with a dried substance. So that's why it cracked.

Gods, it hurt. Was he leaking?

He carefully pulled the green fabric off his head, ignoring the pain. He was sure it couldn't be that important. Had pain ever been important to him? He honestly couldn't remember.

With the fabric removed he could feel something warm seeping down his neck. The dark green was hard with brown, but it wasn't the same brown as he had on his knees. The brown on his knees was shit. The brown on the green was... Dotted with fresh red?

Too confusing. Too much. He was sure it couldn't be all that important if it was so complicated.

But his clothes were smelly and his head ached, so maybe it was a good idea to wash himself. Or strip. It was warm enough to strip.

No, it was _too warm_ to strip. He didn't want to stay in the dark place, and out there the sun would burn him. Yes, he remembered that much. He was white, the sun was hot and he would be red. And it would hurt. See? Simple. Not everything was so confusing.

He slowly got up, swaying slightly on his feet. He dropped the green fabric to the ground. It was dirty. Looking down, he noticed his clothes were ripped. His legs were all visible.

Well, what did it matter anyway.

He wandered out of the dark, into the light. The sun was bright and hot, like he knew it was. There were people bustling by, loud and warm and like bees in a hive. Like he knew they were. He wandered around them, slowly walking down the street in the hopes to find water to wash himself. He could hear water. He knew he was going the right way.

He was right.

Some things were so simple. He just had to ignore the confusing things, and he'd be all right.

He approached the fountain, dipping his hands in the clear water. Smelly brown washed off his hands, showing white delicate skin. He should take off his dirty clothes and wash them too.

"Ja'far!"

He was startled by a hand on his shoulder, pulling him around to face a man with long purple hair and lots of jewellery. A rich man, no doubt.

He blinked at the man questioningly.

"Ja'far, what's going on? You were supposed to meet me an hour ago! Why are you so dirty and beat up?" The man slid his hands down his shoulders, feeling up his arms quickly before moving up and cupping his head. He cringed when strong fingers made contact with the back of his head, his headache intensifying. He must still be leaking.

"Good gods, Ja'far!"

He was tugged forward, and he was just barely in time to resist in order to avoid dirtying this man's expensive clothes too. It was bad enough his own were ruined. The man studied the back of his head, poking around gingerly. He decided to complain when fingers were threaded through thick tangles of hair and dried stuff.

"That hurts."

"Of course it hurts, you've got quite a wound there. We need to get you back to the palace and looked after."

He resisted the tug on his arm again. This man was just pulling him around, without even a greeting. So rude.

"Ja'far?"

"Where are we going?"

"The... the palace. I said that already."

"What palace?"

"Ja'far? What are you going on about?"

"Ja'far?" He repeated the strange word the man had uttered so many times now. "Who are you?"


	5. Toes 2 and Eyes 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to encourage people to give me requests for these drabbles, as my own creativity in mangling people only goes so far. I was requested a continuation on Toes, so here it is. I am contemplating another continuation on Toes, but it won't be in the next chapter yet.
> 
> Also, the third continuation on the original drabble that started this all, Eyes.

_Toes 2_

It was an insult, and Ja'far knew that was the intention. Kouen was so sure of himself that he didn't deem a lock on the door necessary. Ja'far was chained to a wall, cut up and starved. There was no way he could escape.

So the door remained unlocked, unclosed even. A tiny crack in the heavy door, with the sole purpose of taunting Ja'far's pride.

And taunting it did.

But Ja'far refused to leave it at that. After all, what were a few chains to him? People here called him a snake, so who was he to prove them wrong?

Granted, it did take him far too long to wriggle out of his chains. It was a good thing nobody bothered to take him out of his prison anymore, or they might have noticed his slow progress on forcing the chains. After two weeks, Kouen had lost his interest, realising Ja'far would bite off his own tongue before speaking. Since then he hadn't been taken from his cell, the only people he saw being the guards passing by his door and occasionally a man forcing scraps of foul tasting food down his throat. Nobody to see how the chains had loosened, or how his muscles had twisted. Nobody to notice how he had carefully broken one of his arms in order to slip out of the tight hold of the chains.

Nobody to hear him whimper and groan in pain, or notice the fresh blood on his lips when he bit them too hard.

As soon as he sunk to the floor, he knew he had to hurry. He couldn't stay here, laying around to catch his breath and to steel himself against the pain. The door was open, and as much as he could see the people outside, they could also look in.

He managed to raise himself slightly on an elbow and his knees. He had to stand. His feet burned and throbbed as he crawled towards the door, intending to use the small stool there to climb to his feet. It took some struggling and too much noise, but he did manage to pull himself on the stool. He reached out for the door, using the little strength left in his arm to pull himself upright.

It hurt. It hurt so badly.

His feet went white hot, nearly numb, and spears of icy pain shot up in his unused legs. It was almost a death struggle to remain on his feet, his hand clinging at the door post as his only support.

The hall was silent. There were no guards assigned to him. Kouen was so sure of himself.

_This would be easy._

He took a step forward, out of the doorway, into the hall. The pain it brought was not unexpected, but the speed at which the floor suddenly came closer was. He smacked face-first into the stone floor, a nasty crack where he landed on his broken arm.

He gritted his teeth, biting down on his pain. A small whine still managed to escape his throat, but nobody was around.

Why? Why did he fall? Was he no stronger than that?

The struggle to get up on his feet repeated, the stool, the doorpost, the pain. The few seconds to steel himself and to look through the hallway, determining which way to go.

But the next step ended with him face-first on the floor once again, not even a hint of balance present in his step forward.

_Toes_.

He clenched his fist, gritting his teeth and whimpering in frustration.

_How do you walk without toes?_

_..._

_Eyes 3 _

Hands. Hands on him all the time. People just wouldn't stop touching him.

Every time he stepped too close to a doorstep, or stairs, or a single step up or down, there'd be hands on him, grabbing his arm, pulling him away gently. Every time his path was slightly skewed he would feel hands nudging him softly until he walked straight. Every time he reached the end of a wall, there would be hands on his fingers, leading him across the gap to the next wall to follow.

Everyone was touching him.

He tried to tell them off. He tried to snap at them. He even hit someone once - and of course it turned out to be a maidservant who ran off crying, effectively making him feel guilty for the rest of the day until he managed to track her down to apologise.

Nobody listened. Nobody cared that he told them off. Everybody just kept touching him. Hands on him all the time.

"Sin?"

"I'm here Ja'far."

"I know you're here," he answered coldly, "just because I don't have eyes doesn't mean I'm completely _blind_."

"That would normally be the definition of the word 'blind'." He could hear the slight amusement in Sinbad's voice while a chair scraped over the floor. Soft footsteps lead towards Ja'far and there were hands on him again, gently pulling him into the office.

He allowed them, just this once.

"What's with all the people in this palace being all over me, Sin?"

"All over you? Who are?"

"Everyone!" He turned around to face Sin, hoping his king was looking at him and he'd look at least slightly menacing with his eyes covered by bandages. "It's your doing, isn't it? Everywhere I go, people grab me to keep me from hurting myself, or walking into something, or getting lost! You told everyone to do that, didn't you!"

"I only had your best interest in mind," Sinbad tried to placate, placing his large hands over Ja'far's shoulders, trying to soothe him.

He hissed. "It's humiliating! Tell them to stop, they won't listen to me!"

"They will stop by themselves when you don't need them any longer. Just bear with it until you can move around normally again."

"I won't learn to move around by myself if people won't let me, Sin. I need to do this on my own. I don't want people to touch me wherever I am."

"Ja'far." He startled when the hands on his shoulders suddenly pressed down, making him topple backwards. He breathed in sharply when he landed on a chair he hadn't sensed yet. "Stop trying to do everything by yourself. Accept the help people are offering you. Everything will be better if you just allow people to help you."

"I'm not a complete invalid! I will not let myself be humiliated like this by everyone. I'm still your first advisor, and I'm still one of the eight generals! If I walk around with maidservants holding my hand so I don't scrape my knee, nobody will take me seriously!"

Sinbad seemed to mull this over, as he didn't respond. Ja'far felt a twist in his stomach, a nervousness he hadn't felt since he was a little child while waiting for a response. He couldn't read Sinbad's face. He couldn't see if he was tense or relaxed. He could only feel heat seeping through the man's palms into his shoulders.

He could barely remember the time when he couldn't read Sinbad's every move, and know exactly what the other was thinking.

"I'll tell the people in the palace not to baby you as much as they are doing now, but I won't tell them to stop helping you when you might hurt yourself."

"Tch."

Sinbad's hands tensed at his sneer, but relaxed immediately after. It was Ja'far's turn to tense when he felt Sinbad lean in. But he relaxed immediately after, and allowed Sin to brush their lips together without further protest.


	6. Voice 2 and Sanity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two probably contrast each other the most, up until now. Ja'far is too calm in the first drabble, and too -not calm- in the second.
> 
> Extra warning for 'sexual themes' in the first one and the gore content being raised to a new level in the second.

_Voice 2_

"Hello there, pretty boy. What brings you to a place like this?"

Ja'far gave the man a wry smile, hoping he'd be satisfied with just being acknowledged. He continued his trek through the stuffy bar either way, slipping between large and smaller bodies of men. He had been somewhat shocked with learning about the existence of this bar and went in with a letter to explain to the owner that even if the gender of his servants might be different, the same rules applied here as in any bar offering 'romantic' services. He had never heard of a bar specialising in men instead of women before though. But looking around, he didn't feel like he really missed anything crucial in his life.

"Hey, hey. Pretty boy. Don't go ignoring me now."

Ja'far was surprised by the man grabbing his arm. Nobody had ever dared to approach him so boldly - save Sinbad.

He shook his head, gave the man a bit of a strained smile and pulled free. The man let go of his arm without trouble, but didn't look like he was going to leave Ja'far alone any time soon.

"Shy then? Nothing more attractive than a shy beauty." The man offered him a toothy grin. "I haven't seen such a pale complexion before this far south?"

Did this man have absolutely no idea that what he was wearing were governmental robes? And surely, he must be the very first person Ja'far met in Sindria to have no clue at all about the pale general of the king.

"Let me buy you a drink, pretty."

Ja'far was grabbed by his arm again, and the man pulled him forward towards the bar. Shocked, he planted his heels firmly to the floor, resisting the man's pull. He had never consented to this, what was this man thinking?

"Don't be shy," the man grinned, pulling again. Ja'far scowled and shook his head, trying to pull free. If only he wasn't carrying around the letter and a scroll for the owner of the establishment, he could've used his other hand to brush the man off. But as it was, he'd rather be punched in the face than put any paper down on these alcohol and filth splattered tables, and he just had to pull himself free like this.

The man frowned at his violent tug, and stepped back to loom over him. "What's your problem? I'm just inviting you to have a drink, and all you do is being rude? Cat's got your tongue?"

Well that was offending. True, it had already been established this man was a dimwit knowing nothing of Ja'far or his position, but the burn scars on his lips should provide a hint on his silence.

He glared at the man for good measure and made a gesture towards the bar, trying to tell the man to move on. He turned swiftly and tried to resume his walk to the side of the bar, where he was hoping to catch the attention of the owner.

But the man wouldn't let him.

"You feel so fucking great about yourself, don't ya?" Ja'far froze when he was grabbed again, only this time the grip was iron and squeezing down harder, and the man's voice was no longer sweet and flirting. The man's voice was angry now.

His eyes flashed around to the safest place he could put the scroll and letter in order to acquaint this man with one of his knives, but the second of hesitation turned out to be too long. This man was too fast - and definitely too short tempered - for a simple customer of a bar like this.

The scroll and letter were knocked from his hand as his wrist was grabbed, and he suddenly found himself pinned face down on a table. People around the table scattered in surprise.

Ja'far tensed, and almost managed to buck the man off, but the man was taller and heavier and simply put more weight on his wrists. "Rude little whore. Too good for talking to the likes of me? You think I'm so low I don't even deserve to get a 'no' in words? Well, fuck you, if you don't say no, that means you consent to whatever I do!"

This guy was truly an idiot.

Ja'far struggled and felt the man press his crotch to his ass. This was outrageous, to say in the least. He managed to twist his hand quickly, and as the man loosened his grip in surprise he brought out a knife from his sleeve. The unexpected sting of the sharp blade was enough for the man to release him, and Ja'far flipped over smoothly, swinging his blade under the man's chin.

He supposed the man was lucky that some customers of the bar had come to Ja'far's aid, as he was pulled back by three pairs of hands just in time to avoid a deep cut over his cheek.

The man shouted in surprise, looking at the flashing knife with genuine fear for a moment before realising he was now being held down. He started struggling violently until one of the men holding him kicked him in the gut.

"Are you completely insane?! That's Ja'far, one of the eight generals of Sindria!"

The man paled - even while he was coughing and hacking in pain.

"I'm so sorry this had to happen, Lord Ja'far." Ja'far raised an eyebrow at the man who had appeared to grovel before him. No doubt this was the owner. "I've never seen this man before, I assure you he is not one of my regulars. My customers are always very well behaved!"

The people around them started outing their agreement and Ja'far looked around him. Most men looked afraid of him. The man who attacked him looked about ready to wet his pants.

He smiled at the owner, putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. He had no intention of shutting down the establishment because of one rude customer. Seeing how three men had come to his aid and all of them were now looking genuinely nervous about his reaction, it couldn't be _that_ much of a bad place.

He bent down to pick up the scroll and letter where they fell, handing them over to the owner. As the man's eyes fell on the first few words of the letter, his face relaxed and he flashed a grateful look up to Ja'far.

And all this could've been so simply avoided if he had been able to tell the idiot off from the start. He idly traced the scars on his lips.

Everything had become so complicated.

...

_Sanity_

"Your king is dead."

"Fuck off."

Judal's eyebrows shot into his hairline, before he burst out laughing. Ja'far was not in the mood for the magi's antics though. He was covered in blood and cuts and bruises and even now they were surrounded by people fighting. Too much fighting, too much death, and definitely too much Judal.

"You don't believe me?" Judal hiccupped, wiping away a tear from his laughter. "Look for yourself. He's right there."

Ja'far froze and his eyes flew in the direction Judal had pointed him. Trampled under the feet of fighting soldiers from Sindria and Kou was a body clad in red-stained white, dark purple hair stomped into the bloody mud. The faint glitter of gold where a leather boot had stripped off the mud again.

"Believe me now?"

"That's not Sin." He denied. He wouldn't acknowledge this.

"It is though. So what will the lapdog do now his master has been brutally murdered? You can't see it very well from here because he's face down, but I witnessed his organs getting all ripped out. It wasn't a pretty sight, unless you like ruby. Oh, I like ruby."

Ja'far twitched, staring at the magi in disbelief. This couldn't be happening. Sinbad couldn't be dead. It was simply not possible.

A soldier bumped into him, stumbling from a large bleeding gash in his leg. The man turned to helplessly swing his sword at Ja'far, but Ja'far paid him no heed. His arm shot around to dig out the man's eye with a knife, then ignoring him altogether while he kept staring at the trampled body several dozens of steps away from him.

"Oi, you're so heartless," Judal chuckled, "that guy had someone who loved him too, you know."

"Everybody loved Sin," he muttered out, his vision going blurry. Why was his vision blurry? His cheeks were warm and wet. With blood. With tears.

Heartless?

He looked at Judal sharply. So sharply, the magi's smirk faltered for a second.

"You killed him."

It was so terribly satisfactory to see the look of fear flash over Judal's face. Ah, wasn't it great he was able to bring such a look to the face of one so much more powerful than him? That meant Judal knew he was in trouble now.

Judal was gone in a flash, only a fraction of a second between him and the corded knives.

He killed him! _He killed Sin!_

Ja'far's eyes flickered around to find the elusive magi. Gone gone gone!

His knives flashed, cutting open two soldiers standing to close. He needed to find Judal. He needed to find the murderer!

Another stumbled into him. The fool. He cut open his front, letting his organs tumble out similarly to how Judal described Sin's fate.

No.

No, this couldn't be happening!

_Sin!_

He turned, eyes fixing on the body. Judal wasn't important. Sin was important. Sin was the only one who had ever been important. Everyone else was just in the way. Cattle.

He felled three men in two steps, blood gushing over his hands, the wires slippery between his fingers. He snapped the wires around two men's necks, pulling taut to decapitate them.

Was that a soldier from Sindria?

Not important! Nothing but livestock! _He wasn't Sin!_

Sin!

Four more men in the next few steps. Three more in the ones after. Four and he was on Sin's body. He hacked at the people fighting on top of the corpse. A man screamed, but he didn't care. He desecrated Sin's body, he deserved to be cut up alive. He deserved to have Ja'far cut out both eyes, then slash open his cheek into a large and corps-like smile. Yes, he was the corpse, not the one he was lying on top of. The struggling and thrashing body was the corpse, and he'd make him look like it. Open the belly, decorate him with his intestines. Cut off the fingers. Cut open the arms.

Still struggling even now?

"Ja'far!"

He stopped mangling the thrashing and squealing body, looking up at the surprisingly familiar voice.

He had been right! The body had been just a soldier! Sin was right there!

_But why did Sin look so disappointed in him?_


	7. Little Finger and Toes 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a request for something to do with a pinky promise. This drabble will be a little different from the rest, yet very much the same.  
> I also did a third drabble on Toes because I felt like I didn't really complete the request I had for that one.

_Little Finger_

"Hey Ja'far?"

He sighed in exasperation, turning to face his king.

"What is it Sin?"

"So cold." The High King of the Seven Seas pouted like a little child. "I just wanted to ask if you'd stay with me tonight?"

Ja'far felt heat raise to his cheeks and busied himself with setting some of the boxes in the tent straight.

"Either me or Masrur is going to be outside your tent throughout the night."

"I don't want you to be outside my tent." King now reduced to whining. Sometimes Ja'far wondered why he was following this man. _Ah yes, because he loved him_.

"Would you rather have Masrur there all night?" He asked prudently.

"If that means you'll stay with me inside the tent, then yes." He was given a wide grin and Ja'far huffed, moving on to pull the heavy draperies over the boxes that needed protection from the damp outside the tent.

"I just want you to stay with me here!"

"And you'd be fully satisfied with me sitting in a corner of the tent the whole night." Sarcasm dripped from his voice and it elicited another whine from his king.

"Oh come on, Ja'far. You know what I want."

"And I can't help but wonder why you would want such a thing." _Or how long this infatuation will last._

"Is it so hard to imagine I like you as more than just my most trusted friend, general and advisor?"

"It's already quite the flattering list, if I do say so myself." He turned to smile at his pouting king. "But really Sin, it would be no good if I stayed with you tonight. You are hardly capable of keeping your hands to yourself, and we're in a tent, for goodness sake. You have an image to uphold. In fact, so do I."

"What if I promise to do nothing more than cuddling?"

"When I wake up to you naked every time I give in to that, how am I supposed to trust that promise?"

Ja'far had to admit, his king was rather skilled at the whole kicked puppy look. Not to mention he _wanted_ to give in, really. He was afraid to believe in his king's affections, mostly because he was afraid of the heartbreak it would give him if his king were to move on to the next infatuation. And indeed, it only took a tiny whine for Ja'far to quickly resume his arguments, not being able to watch the pitiful sight for too long.

"It's dangerous Sin. I need to be outside, on the lookout. These parts are crawling with wild animals and thieves alike, not to mention we are still not completely on friendly terms with the Kou Empire. Someone might be sent to assassinate you at any moment. We can't have you clinging to me all naked when I need to protect you."

"You're overreacting, Ja'far. We've been travelling for almost two weeks, and we haven't even _seen_ a wild animal or thief. And the Kou Empire wouldn't make the blunder of sending assassins to me while I'm on my way to negotiate with them."

"Just because we haven't been attacked yet, doesn't mean we won't! Any moment we could be looking at a sword sticking through the side of the tent right here between our noses!"

"Ja'faaaar!"

"Not to mention you have completely failed to address the whole nakedness issue."

"But I want to be naked with you!"

"There's a time and a place for everything Sin."

The King perked up at that, suddenly all smiles and happiness. Ja'far only flushed harder, trying to keep his face blank to keep any form of eagerness from showing.

"If I promise you there will be no nakedness tonight, can I get you naked together with me when we get back to Sindria?"

Ja'far offered him a withering glare, but the childish happiness on Sin's face didn't fade.

"Fine."

"Pinky promise?"

"Fine!"

He sighed heavily, both tired from this whole discussion and happy for the blatant affection. He sat down next to Sin on the bed and offered him his hand, his king quickly entwining their little fingers.

And then the sword appeared, sticking through the side of the tent, right there between their noses. And frankly, Ja'far felt more hurt in his heart as it broke than in his hand when he saw two entwined little fingers drop off the blade to the ground.

...

_Toes 3 _

"This is definitely not one of my best planned out endeavours."

More importantly, the fact he just caught himself talking to himself was a worrying development. It must be the combination of blood loss and adrenaline.

He was so close, yet so far away. There, right before him, were the docks. Ships everywhere. Yet how would he crawl onto a ship undetected?

Impossible.

It would be so nice if there was some kind of embassy of Sindria in this place. But then again, if he crawled into an official embassy in this state it would cause a political scandal of a scale a mere ambassador would probably not be able to handle. And neither would he, as he was now.

But how _should_ he escape? He couldn't crawl all the way to a neighbouring country on his one hand and bleeding knees. He couldn't make his way onto a ship and play stowaway until they got Gods know where, because he'd die of infections within days without even knowing where he was going. And he certainly couldn't stay here in this dirty alley, because it wouldn't be long until half of Kou would be searching for him.

Suddenly there were hands on him, grabbing underneath his arms and lifting him in the air as if he weighed nothing at all. His weakened state had left his reflexes rather suboptimal, so it was no surprise the man easily blocked him when his hand hacked backwards into the man's neck. As a matter of fact, he was perfectly predicted and flipped over, as if the man had known he'd do that all along.

And in hindsight, he probably did.

"Please calm down."

"M-Masrur?"

The tall man didn't respond and looked around instead, fixing his eyes on a heavy water proof drapery on a barrel nearby. Masrur picked it up and dropped it on top of Ja'far unceremoniously.

"We will go to the ship now. We leave tonight."

"How did you find me?" Ja'far struggled slightly to get more comfortable, and Masrur smoothly shifted him until he was cradled in his arm like an infant. Humiliating, granted, but it was Masrur. He could handle it if it was Masrur.

"By smell."

"Then what took you so long?"

Masrur ignored the irritation in his voice.

"We only arrived yesterday. Found your smell at the palace this morning, and followed your smell here."

"Where's Sin?"

"Home. Now quiet."

Ja'far shut up as commanded, feeling how he was carried over the docks. Wood protested heavily under Masrur's weight, and then the light feeling of standing on a ship followed. Even while docked, the feeling of a ship would always be unmistakable and surprisingly homely to Ja'far. It was as much of a relief as being found by Masrur was.

He was set down below deck and uncovered. As Masrur didn't do things in halves, he was also immediately stripped from the rags still hanging around his body. The Fanalis took out a bowl of water and cloth - standing there, all ready, all prepared - and started to scrub at Ja'far's dirty skin with a gentleness that belied his size and strength.

"Sin wanted to come."

Ja'far sighed. Masrur knew him too well. He had hoped Masrur hadn't noticed his disappointment when he said Sinbad hadn't come.

"He insisted. But it's not safe for him to be here. I locked him up when we left."

"You locked him up?" Ja'far couldn't help but feel slightly amused. He was hurting all over, he was starved, he could no longer walk and he was sitting naked and vulnerable in a ship in a port in the country that had be torturing him for weeks. But the thought of Masrur locking up his king brought a small smile to his face.

"Knocked him out first." Masrur now corrected. "And threw away the key. Sin couldn't be out before we passed the transportation barrier."

"You did well Masrur." Ja'far sighed and sagged on his stool, wincing away from the wet cloth in Masrur's hands. "I owe you my life _and_ Sin's now."

Reddish eyes pierced into his sharply. "Don't mention it."


	8. Sanity 2 and Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Trigger warning for victims of fires for the second drabble!**  
>  Warning for some cussing in the first drabble. If the first drabble confuses you, don't be upset. I can assure you Ja'far is too. Heck, _I_ am confused with it.

_Sanity 2_

_Ow_.

He looked at the bars confused, rubbing the sore spot on his forehead where he hit the metal. Where did those bars come from?

His fingers were tingling. He could feel the adrenaline rushing through his body, the hairs on his arms standing on end. He could taste blood.

He was in the middle of a fight, after all.

He swirled around, but only found an empty stone wall. Nothing there.

_Sin._

His king! His king had been murdered!

No, it couldn't be. It could never be. Sin wouldn't be slain just like that. Such a thing was impossible.

But Judal had said so.

And he had seen so.

He had seen the body, trampled in the mud. Unmistakably King Sinbad.

But he had stood there! Right there, right above him, right above the body! He had seen Sin!

_And he had looked so disappointed._

He needed to protect his king. Judal had just been playing games with him. He wouldn't fall for that again. Never. Ever. Never.

_Never._

He sank to the floor. Why was he locked up? Why was it so cold? He was ready to fight, he was ready to kill.

_Ready to slaughter, to cut, to maim. Ready to kill every single fucking pig coming in between him and his murdered king._

He needed to get out. He needed to protect his king.

Sin was dead.

But his king had been right there... Looking disappointed.

Was he running in circles now? He wasn't even running. But didn't he see this before? He saw his king, dead. He killed Judal- no, Judal escaped. He killed the people desecrating his king's body. Sin showed up alive. Sin locked him up.

Sin was dead, yet Judal wasn't. That filthy piece of shit was still out there, laughing and killing, and nobody would take revenge for Sinbad's death if Ja'far wouldn't do it.

It was inexcusable. Judal had seen Sin getting ripped open and murdered - so cruel, so unfair. Judal had laughed. Judal had come to tell him personally - well, that had been nice. Right?

No.

_No._

Judal needed to die.

And the war wasn't won. _The war wasn't lost._ Sin wasn't dead, the generals were still standing. Were they?

Well, he was sitting.

Why was he sitting?

He needed to get back to the fight. Back to the war. He needed to protect his king. He needed to take revenge.

In one movement, he stood and turned around, his head bumping into heavy metal bars harshly.

_Ow._

He looked at the bars confused, rubbing the sore spot on his forehead. Where did those bars come from?

...

_Skin_

He could still see it, as it was still burned on his retina. The flash of light - like lightning confined to a small place - and then the fire igniting. It ran across the walls like a spider fleeing for a diligent servant trying to smash it. It licked the ceiling until it crossed to either side, the whole roof quickly alight.

Everything was so bright, _yet there was nothing happy about it at all._

The insane man was still splashing oil and wine, ruining the palace's stock of expensive liquor and high quality cooking oils at the same time.

Ja'far didn't even know who he was, but if the foam on his mouth and the twisting and turning of his limbs were anything to go by, he didn't belong here in the palace.

Of course he had shot forward to stop the man as soon as he saw him light a fire, but the man was more agile than his looks suggested. The fire was lit and a large jar of oil connected with Ja'far's head. His knives had dropped like dead snakes halfway the screaming madman.

His head was hurting, both at the front where blood ran down his oily skin, and the back where he had hit the stone floor. His eyes were still open to witness the fast progress of the fire though.

He was sure he hadn't been down for longer than a few seconds, trying to regain his bearings, but by the time he could lift a hand to gingerly touch at his forehead, everything around him was bright and hot.

Small fragments of glass were embedded in the skin on his face, but that was not a priority right now. The madman. The fire.

He managed to lift himself upright, only to be kicked back down again. Splatters of saliva and tears hit his face as the insane man leaned over him.

"Burn."

Ja'far gripped at the foot on his chest and pulled it away, making the man lose his balance. The bottle of oil dropped from the man's hands onto Ja'far's chest, making him gasp for breath sharply.

More oil, more shards.

_Oh, the fire._

He lurched to his feet unsteadily, pushing the man aside. He rolled through the glass shards on the ground, laughing manically.

What had pushed this man so far?

Why was he doing this?

Ja'far stumbled one step towards the fire, before realising there was no way he could extinguish it. Quite the contrary, as he was drenched in oil himself.

His vision was blurring with blood and oil quickly.

He swirled around - nearly falling over in the process - and started to stumble to the door. He needed to sound the alarm. He needed someone else to put out this fire. He couldn't-

A hand grabbed his foot, yanking it away from underneath him. When he rolled over to face the madman, everything was alight.

He was burning.

"Burn," the man chuckled, dropping his weight on top of Ja'far.

Pieces of glass dug deeper into his chest and Ja'far cried out shamefully, helpless to stop the man's fall.

_He was burning._

The fire from the madman's clothes quickly caught on Ja'far's sleeves, the oil only hastening the progress. It took him all his power to push the man off his chest, but fire ran over him in quick orange flames, white fabric alight like the brightest torch.

Oh it burned, it burned.

He screeched, his mind shutting off when he could no longer see. Too much blood and oil in his eyes, too much bright fire before him. He could smell the sickly sweetness of his skin sizzling in the flames, his clothes already crisp and fluttering apart in ashes.

He rolled over to kill the flames on his chest, but the fabric on his back lit higher than ever. And as his head hit the floor once more, the brightness was gone and replaced by the dark.


	9. Past 2 and Eyes 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the breather you'll be getting. The next chapter is probably pretty nasty. Warnings for sexual themes going up too now, this is no longer rated just for the gore.
> 
> Both drabbles are written at request.
> 
> **On a side note, I will warn you if a character death ever happens with certainty. In the 'Sanity' set I have still left it open whether Sinbad is dead or not, but in none of the drabbles I have meant to have Ja'far die yet (including 'Skin').**

_Past 2_

He looked around curiously in the room he was placed in. The man with the purple hair had dragged him a long way through the city, until they reached a vast palace. Once inside he had hurried them to a large room with luxury furniture, only to sit him down on a small bench.

And tell him to stay there.

He had left him alone in the room. So now he stayed. And watched.

It was all very pretty, he had to admit. As rich as the man's clothes were, his room was even more extravagant. The bed was huge, he was sure he wouldn't be able to reach from any side to the opposing one even if he would stretch as far as he could.

He wanted to test it, but he was still dirty, and the man had told him to stay.

There were cupboards of dark wood, shining beautifully. Every corner and edge was decorated with swirling carvings. The same for the closets, taller than any man and looking heavy and expensive.

And the desk was amazing. It looked perfect to work on. He could just imagine spreading papers and scrolls on that desk and he would always have place for more.

He was startled out of his thoughts by the man returning to the room, a large bowl in his hands and fresh cloth draped over an arm.

"C'mon, let's have you cleaned up."

He nodded. He did need to get cleaned up. He was smelly.

But instead of getting to business, the man kneeled before him, placing his hands on his shoulders and forcing him to make eye contact. It made him a little nervous.

"Ja'far, don't you remember what happened?"

He blinked. Apparently Ja'far was his own name. "No." He tilted his head, gazing into amber eyes. They made him nervous, but not the way he was expecting. Actually he could feel warmth pooling in his belly, even though he was anticipating some form of panic. He was nervous and comfortable at the same time. Who was this man, eliciting such a reaction from him?

The man shook him slightly. "Ja'far. Stay with me here. Do you even know who I am?"

"No." He was wondering just that. How curious. Was this man reading his mind?

Surprisingly, the man cringed at his response. "Doesn't the name 'Sinbad' ring any bells?"

"Sinbad." He tasted the name on his tongue. It felt familiar, like he had said it before lots of times. Although... not quite right. "Sin-" he tried again, but was satisfied halfway. Yes, that sounded about right. That name belonged there. That name was supposed to spill from his lips.

"No."

"No?" The man chuckled, sounding almost hysterical, "you just said- You called me Sin, how don't you remember?"

"I don't. But Sin feels right."

"Do you remember _anything at all_?"

He pondered the question. He had remembered he burned in the sun. He remembered the language. He had remembered he needed water to clean his dirty clothes. But those were probably not what the man meant.

"I don't think so."

The man sighed, looking dejected. It kind of made him feel bad, making the man sad. He seemed to care for him. And according to that feeling in his belly, he cared for the man back. He didn't quite understand how he could care for someone he didn't know though.

The man stood and tugged on his clothes. He obediently allowed himself to be stripped, his dirty clothes discarded on the floor so the man could start wiping him with a wet cloth. He seemed to be looking for injuries.

That was actually quite a good plan.

"Your name is Ja'far. You are one of the eight generals of this country, Sindria." He nodded at the man tentatively, even though his face was hidden behind purple bangs now. "I am Sinbad, your king. You swore me loyalty." He looked up sharply, their eyes locking onto each other. "Will you still be loyal, even when you don't remember me?"

He wasn't sure why, but he felt that this question was important. He _knew_ it was important. Deep amber eyes stared right into his soul, looking for him to answer correctly.

"Yes."

He didn't even know why he answered that, but 'no' had not been an option. He couldn't have said 'no' even if he had been threatened to do so. He knew he was loyal to this man. His king? Sin?

 _Sin_.

His face was gently cradled in two large hands, and a soft kiss was pressed to his cheek.

"Thank you."

...

_Eyes 4_

"S-Sin?"

He shivered, uncertain, slightly scared. He didn't want to admit it. But Sinbad could probably see it.

"I'm not going to hurt you," his king gently whispered. A warm hand cupped his face and something brushed his lips lightly. A kiss?

Ja'far shivered again, his fingers tangling into Sinbad's robes desperately. It was so warm, yet so cold at the same time.

It was so dark.

The hand left his face and trailed lightly down his throat, over his collarbone, only to make its way over a shoulder and down an arm. A path tingled and sparked behind Sinbad's delicate touch, leaving Ja'far's skin on fire. His other arm felt cold in comparison.

He winced slightly when something connected to his lips again, leaning up when he recognised his king's lips. Sinbad kissed him slowly and languidly, like he was a scared animal and he didn't want him running away.

He was probably right.

Ja'far arched his back slightly, pressing himself into Sinbad's chest above him. Normally the man might have chuckled and called him eager. But not this time.

Not while he couldn't see, and his pulse was thundering in his wrist where Sinbad's hand rested for another reason than just excitement.

Not while Sinbad could maybe even taste his fear as his tongue slipped to slowly lick his lips.

It's not like he was afraid of Sinbad. He knew he wouldn't hurt him no matter what. But it was the dark that was getting to his head. It was that endless blackness that worried him.

How did he even know it was Sinbad touching him?

Yet the touch and the movement and the deep breaths were unmistakably Sin, and he allowed fingers to splay on his chest to sneak underneath his robes without protesting against them.

Yet his own fingers tightened once again in the robes of the body above him, like a last life line.

"Ja'far."

His whole body shuddered under the low voice. He couldn't help the whimper spilling from his throat.

Firm lips trailed over his cheek to his jaw line, delicately nibbling the skin before trailing another fiery path down his throat. Ja'far gasped and arched his neck, giving his king better access to his defenceless throat. Begging for more wordlessly.

If this wasn't Sin, he might bite him here. He might try to rip him open, spilling the blood that was pumping too fast all over the bed. Draining him from the heat Sin's lips left in its wake.

But the way two hands expertly opened his robes for him and how the heavy breathing pressed against his throat told him this really was his king. This really was Sinbad.

No matter how dark, no matter how uncertain.

And still he couldn't help the small sob when a warm hand found his crotch, cupping him.

"Ja'far." The voice whispered again.

His king. His Sin.

The hand abandoned his crotch to slide up his body back to his chest. Ja'far twitched and pressed closer, not willing to lose the touch just yet. It was so warm, so smooth. It was so loving.

And it scared him.

Lips pressed to his shoulder, a spark of heat running through his chest and tightening his breathing. Everything tingled, and wherever Sinbad touched him the skin would burn deliciously.

He fisted his king's robes nervously.

He had never been afraid of the dark before.


	10. Masculinity and Gender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a request asking if Ja'far could lose his gender, completely turning him into a girl. I first thought to approach it the same way as the other drabbles (aka, the gory way), but it turned out so sick it was way beyond even myself. I had the one who taught me how to write gore in the first place have a look at it, and even _she_ thought it was quite sick. So I rewrote the ending, making it not even half as horrid as it was, and wrote a second attempt for the request. Therefore these are two very similar drabbles in this chapter.  
>  I still encourage requests, but please consider my poor leftover sanity in the wording of it. My interpretation of some requests will be the end of me one day :P
> 
> New warnings for more sexual scenes.

_Masculinity_

Ja'far didn't waste a moment to knock the man straight on his Adam's apple, feeling it crush beneath his fist. He swirled around - his knives flying from his sleeves - only to find himself bump into a large body right behind him.

_How did he approach him so fast?_

He tried to recover and directed his flying knives upwards to the man's head, but with one large arm both of his were pinned to his body, his weapons halting halfway when the cords stopped flowing off his wrists.

"You bastard," he spit the man in the face, bringing his knee up to kick the man in the crotch - which would've gone a lot better if he hadn't been so _tall_.

"You killed him," the man sounded surprisingly upset, almost like a whining child.

"Let me go this instant or you'll be next," he hissed, his fingers grappling at the cords to bring his knives back into reach.

"You pay for this!"

Ja'far screamed when with a quick snap both his shoulders were dislocated, his arms brought together behind his back. The large man tried to pull on the cords on his arms, making them cut sharply into his skin, but gave up when he couldn't untangle them. With an effortless flick of his wrist he ripped Ja'far's robes apart, using them to tie his arms together behind his back.

"Pretty miss like you shouldn't kill," the man told him, frowning. "Now you pay."

Ja'far groaned, glaring up at the man even as he was dropped to the ground unceremoniously. "I'm not a miss, you bastard. You will regret this."

"Pretty face means girl," the man simply dismissed, ignoring Ja'far's threat. "I'll use you, and then you die."

He didn't bother to respond, flinging his body to the side in order to kick the large man. His foot connected with his knee just fine, but instead of the man's leg crumpling in pain, it was his own foot that cracked - as if kicking a stone pillar. He groaned in pain, clenching his teeth together.

"Pretty miss is really strong," the man noted dumbly. He crouched in front of Ja'far, a large scarred hand sliding up one of his legs without shame.

"Get off," Ja'far hissed, kicking again. The man wasn't impressed and simply took hold of his ankle, forcing his leg up to spread his legs further apart than comfortable. A knee was pressed down on his other leg, forcing it to the rough ground harshly. Ja'far attempted to struggle, but this man seemed to be hewn out of stone.

His crotch was fondled with too much force, making him squeak and twitch painfully.

"Uh. Miss isn't alright."

"How can you still call me a miss after touching that?" Ja'far asked incredulously, momentarily distracted by this man's stupidity. It was a thought though, if he could keep this idiot occupied Sinbad would find him soon enough. He was supposed to check in with his king right about now. Considering their hostile surroundings Sinbad wouldn't waste a moment to start searching for him.

"Pretty face means girl," the man simply stated again. Ja'far's eyes widened when he reached behind him, a small knife clenched in a large fist returning to descend between his legs.

"Wait wait waait!" He tried to kick helplessly, his body twisting to get out of the way. His whole body convulsed in panic, one leg pinned to the ground and the other to the air, neither capable of even a inch of movement.

He screamed when the knife connected, his hips lurching in vain. It hurt, _so much_. The world blurred in the tears that sprang to his eyes, his chest heaving for air only to scream again. _He couldn't even hear himself_.

His whole body thrashed in the man's grip, still not allowed to leave the strong grip of a hand and a knee. The knife connected again, but he could barely feel it anymore.

The blood spilling over his thighs burned. It hurt. It hurt so much he couldn't think anything else.

It hurt so much that when his legs were pinned together, all he could think of was the pain of the shift in position and the way his mangled flesh was pressed together. He could see the blood where it seeped from between his thighs like a small stream, where something else should be laying. Yet all there was now was an open flesh wound being squeezed together so the blood would flow.

Everything was blurred, everything was red.

It hurt.

When he was jolted by the man's weight his vision went black.

_The pain lingered._

...

_Gender_

A hand snatched his wrist, pulling him stumbling through a door. His scrolls bounced all over the floor of the hallway, but he didn't pay it any heed. With a swift movement he had his attacker pinned against the wall of the guestroom he'd been pulled into, a knife ready at his throat.

"Judal? What are you doing here?"

He stepped back in surprise, only realising his mistake as he lowered his dagger. This was not a friendly face. He should have kept the knife there.

Judal smirked at him, and with a fast push he sent Ja'far toppling to the ground. The magi only spared a second for slamming the door closed before standing over Ja'far, setting a foot on his chest.

"My my, such a nice welcome from Freckles. No 'how do you do' to spare for me?"

"Quit the games, Judal, and answer my question." He glared, forcing himself to stay calm. It would be no good if he murdered Kou's magi here in their own palace.

Ah, Sinbad would say he couldn't murder Judal no matter where. Politics could be so troublesome sometimes.

"I came for the usual. But Sinbad won't be persuaded." Judal tilted his head, pouting. "I thought I could perhaps use you to bring my point home."

"Don't even try," Ja'far rolled his eyes, knocking Judal's foot off his chest irritably. He was startled by his hand being smacked back down to the ground, a thick crest of ice forming over his wrist.

"What do you think you're doing?" He quickly tried to sit upright, but Judal merely raised an eyebrow before freezing his other hand and both feet to the ground as well.

"Just so you know, the longer you struggle, the longer you'll be confined like this." Judal smirked again and tapped a foot against one of the bulges of ice. "If you are a good girl, I'll release you before your hands and feet freeze off."

"Not to burst your bubble, but I'm a guy," Ja'far couldn't help to roll his eyes despite his situation. He wasn't all that worried. He was in the palace of Sindria, what could Judal do to him here before someone came in to save him in a more political correct method?

"You're a guy now, but like this I can hardly convince Sinbad, can I?" Judal pushed at Ja'far's robes with his foot nonchalantly, sliding bare toes up his leg. "If I would make you a girl... I could do all sort of things that would make the idiot king come running to save you."

"Wh-what?" He blinked at the magi confused. Make him a girl? What was this idiot talking about?

"It's not really my speciality, but it can't be that difficult, right?" Judal lifted his ridiculous little wand, pointing it at Ja'far. Ja'far quickly pulled at his hands, suddenly a lot more worried about the whole situation. What was he going to do to him?

He was very properly stuck though, and he could practically feel the shift in the rukh as the magi pronounced his spell, the hair on his body standing on end. A sharp pain shot into his belly, a relentless cramp following right into his crotch.

He groaned in pain, trying to curl up despite the ice holding him down. When he couldn't curl around his abdomen, his entire body thrashed beyond his control, and loud moan of aggravation escaping his lips.

"Don't be such a little girl," Judal mocked. "Oh wait, no. Please do be a little girl!"

The obnoxious laughter ached like a heavy hangover in Ja'far's head, and he finally whimpered, going slack as the pain in his abdomen lessened.

"Oh! You turned out quite pretty, Freckles."

Judal kneeled down over him, grinning at him like a madman. He _was_ a madman.

A hand shot out to his chest, and to Ja'far's mortification Judal fondled a breast there.

"Nice and soft. Just how I like them. Imagine what the idiot king would do if he found out his precious advisor hadn't only been turned into a girl, but also had been raped brutally? Oh! What if I got you pregnant?"

"Stop this," Ja'far groaned, shocked at the high pitch of his voice. His throat ached as he spoke, like his body wasn't quite ready yet to use the parts of him that changed.

"Stop this?" Judal laughed, "I'm only just beginning! Why don't you struggle a little more, Miss Freckles? I'm going to take you so hard you'll see stars, and when you scream loud enough to have that idiot come running, I'll spill all over your face to show him I made you mine. I'll bruise these soft breasts until they're purple and I'll pound into you until you bleed. And when you are overflowing with my seed, let's see if I can perform a spell to get you pregnant, shall we? Seeing you swell and get fat with a child you don't want," he shuddered in delight while he leaned his weight onto Ja'far's helpless body.

_"I can't wait to see it happen."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (and then I had to make up a title for the first that wasn't 'Family Jewels' or 'Package' but not a word vulgar in its straightforwardness either...)


	11. Hands 3 and Skin 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was requested a continuation of Hands, so I dug it back up. And now I'm out of drabbles again, so it might be a while until the next update.

_Hands 3_

If looks could kill- No, if glares could burn, Sinbad's hand would've been long shrivelled to ashes by now. He had been glaring at that trespassing hand for the better part of an hour, but it seemed like his glare wasn't as deadly as some people tended to claim.

Of course, Sinbad's hand was just on his lower arm, so the king wasn't going to feel self-conscious about it anytime soon - assuming he would if the hand at been in a less innocent place. The occasional slow stroking of the hand up and down the tender skin of his arm was grating his nerves even beyond the lack of hands by now.

"Sin-"

"No."

Ja'far gritted his teeth, his gaze falling back to the hand on his arm. Fingers lightly squeezed the flesh of his arm in a way that was surely meant to be reassuring, but Ja'far wasn't going to feel reassured anymore.

He had tried telling Sinbad he should let him go several times, but every time his king had interrupted him, or downright rejected his demands. And by now they reached the point where Sinbad would just shoot him down the moment he opened his mouth.

And all that time Sinbad was just sitting there, one hand tenderly caressing Ja'far's arm while the other jotted down the occasional signature on a scroll. Admittedly, Ja'far was more than happy for Sinbad to actually do some work - but he could've done it in an office on a proper desk. He didn't need Sinbad sitting next to his bed holding his figurative hand.

He was itching to either do some work himself, or get out of this place and stop being a bother to everyone. Yamraiha had better things to do than checking up on him every other hour - what did he need checking up for anyway? He got his hands amputated and was sitting out the time it took him to restore his normal volume of blood. And once he did, he could tell his king to shove his worries somewhere where the sun won't shine and get out of here. Nobody needed a handless secretary. Nobody needed an assassin who couldn't even pick up his own weapons. All he was now was a burden to everyone - and a traumatising one too, considering the face Sharrkan made whenever he popped in just to make sure he really still was there despite his king already keeping an eye on him like a little child.

Sinbad was wasting valuable time. He wasn't going to have any use of Ja'far anymore. Why was he here?

"At least let me-"

"Shut up, Ja'far, and accept you are not going to get your way this time."

He reeled back in surprise, giving his king a wide-eyed look. What was _that_ supposed to mean?

Since when did Sinbad even say such things to him? Was he being treated like a spoiled brat now? By the very person who he had to drag away from drinking parties and tie up to get him to work?

Sinbad finally turned to him, his hand tightening slightly on his arm as he sighed. "Ja'far, you need to stop thinking I'm going to let you go just because you can't fulfil your original tasks anymore. You aren't just a general of this country, nor just my advisor, nor just the main secretary. Not even just the combination of the three. You have been by my side for over half of my life, and I see you as my best friend, if not more. There is no way I'm going to allow you to run off while you are hurt just because _you_ believe you are a liability now. You're not. You are still - and will always be - the person I treasure the most. If you can't do my paperwork for me anymore, so be it. You can still advise me when I need your opinion, and you can still stand by my side when I need to fall back on you. You lost your hands, but it's your shoulders I was leaning on."

He gaped at his king in shock, at a complete loss for words.

"So shut up, let me do my work and heal. Stop trying to make a fuss."

_Let me do my work_.

"But-"

He quickly shut his mouth at Sinbad's sharp look.

He'd never seen Sinbad act like this. He'd never seen Sinbad actually getting angry about having his _work_ interrupted. He had never realised Sinbad thought so highly of him - well, he knew he trusted Ja'far with a lot, but never expected him to say something like _this_.

He hadn't thought Sinbad actually still had use for him.

He stared at the hand on his arm in wonder as it gently trailed up and down his sensitive skin, avoiding the bandages near the end of the limb.

Somehow the irritating gesture had become incredibly soothing.

...

_Skin 2_

It hurt.

He couldn't see. But that wasn't the problem. It was the pain.

His whole body felt like it was on fire, like he spilled boiling water over himself, or that time he was hit by acid from a dungeon monster. Or like he was _actually burning_.

He felt a desperate noise rumble out of his throat and his body twitched weakly, as if that would help against the pain. _The_ _pure agony_.

It was overpowering. It was everything. Perhaps his eyes were open, but the pain was so overwhelming he wasn't seeing anything. All he could hear was the rushing of his blood and the pounding of his heart, telling him how he was - sadly - still alive.

_He would like to die now_.

"Dear god, he's waking up!"

The voice was distant, but familiar. At least the sound didn't hurt. Every inch of skin was in pain, every joint unable to move, every thought was hurting.

"Waking up? He can't! Yamraiha-"

A whimper forced its way out of his throat. No matter how soft the sound was, it drowned out the voices above him for his ears.

His skin had become so sensitive, so burned, he could feel the shift in air as people moved above him. A burn over his arm and chest as someone leaned over him, a sharp stab of a lock of hair getting too close.

_Too close. Too painful._

His eyes fluttered open, but all he could see was blurs of light blue and dark purple and white. And all that against a plane of black.

A ceiling burned. Burned by bright hot fire.

"Make him sleep!"

The hiss in that voice sounded unnatural. He wasn't used to hearing his king snap like that. He wasn't used to hearing him this desperate and angry.

"I'm trying! I don't know why he's waking up at all!"

Yamraiha sounded distressed. Scared even.

He could identify the colours now, but he still couldn't properly see them. He didn't really feel the need to. He felt a need to end this pain. He wanted it to stop. He wanted them to stop moving, so his skin wouldn't ache even hotter in their wake. He wanted them to stop breathing as every breath burned on him.

_Sizzling_.

"S-Sin," he croaked. He wanted to beg for his life. He wanted to beg for his _death_. He couldn't sink lower, and he couldn't care less. If only it could stop.

A sharp movement towards him, broken off right before he was touched. Ja'far whimpered at the scorching breeze of air hitting his skin. He gasped when his cheeks started burning worse immediately after. He was crying, and it was unbearable. Please stop crying. _Please please let it stop_.

"Ja'far. Please don't panic, stay calm."

He was one to talk. He wasn't the one burning. He wasn't the one _circled by bright flames licking at his tender skin, as every breath and every movement was new agony added to the endless pain he was feeling._ He was the one panicking in the first place.

Ja'far didn't have enough attention to spend on panic, not when he was hurting so much.

"Yamraiha is trying to heal you. You should let go, you should try to sleep. Don't keep yourself awake, she can guarantee your safety and it won't hurt as much."

He tried to close his eyes, but he couldn't. It was like they were stuck open. The mere attempt felt like needles being pricking deeply into his face.

Why did it have to hurt so much? Why couldn't it all just end? Why couldn't they just kill him?

His fingers twitched, sending new paths of burning agony up his arm.

_He wanted Sin's comforting touch so badly._


	12. Gender 2 and Hearing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here I thought being out of pre-made chapters meant I wasn't going to update for a while... I announce a break, and suddenly I get new requests and a ton of new ideas coming forth from those request. So quite a few new chapters coming up again. If you requested something, please be a little patient. There's only two drabbles in a chapter after all, and in the end I write in the order inspiration comes. But I try to do every single request I get (and if I don't, I will say so).
> 
> As for my anon reviewer who thought there was only a limited amount of things left for Ja'far to lose... you'll be surprised :P
> 
> Where we had warnings for sexual situations before, it goes all the way up to **Trigger Warnings for rape** now. No idea what more I could need to warn for in the future now we have all levels of gore and rape present...

_Gender 2_

Judal wanted him to scream. But he wouldn't give him that pleasure, even with the pain ripping through him at each thrust.

He had already given in too much. He had promised Judal he wouldn't struggle, so the magi would release his hands and feet from the icy bounds. This happening was bad enough, he didn't want his limbs freezing off as well.

Judal had been delighted.

But he wasn't so pleased anymore now.

"Why aren't you fucking screaming?" Judal groaned, bucking his hips sharply into Ja'far.

His fingers lost their grip on the stone floor, his hands skidding forward until his face hit the tiles painfully. Ja'far gritted his teeth, desperate not to cry out. He couldn't give Judal that satisfaction.

Sharp teeth bit down in his shoulder, and he whimpered, arching in a vain attempt to get away from the teeth and hard length pounding into him.

Judal was keeping all his promises. Ja'far knew he was bleeding from the place Judal was assaulting so mercilessly. He could feel the hot blood dripping down his thighs. His soft thighs, turned unnaturally chubby by the change brought upon his body by the magi. Just like the whimpers were coming out way too high pitched, and his hair was pooling around his head in a much longer style than he would ever let it be.

"Fuck, scream, bitch!"

A harsh hand gripped at his chest, fingers digging into a soft breast. Ja'far gasped out in pain. Judal had no mercy on his already violated body. His breasts were squeezed and bitten until they were as purple as Judal had told him they'd be. But the insane man hadn't stopped there. He had raked long nails all over his unusually soft skin, creating stinging gashes just deep enough to bleed, but not deep enough to bleed him out. His belly was scratched open and punched black, his shoulders bitten raw. His thighs had fallen victim to sharp lashes of the magi's short wand, the pointed tip leaving cruel marks.

But all that was nothing really. Nothing to the insistent pounding as he was being raped by the madman, all just to make him scream. All just to lure out Sinbad.

His hair was gripped and he was pulled backwards until he sat on his knees, groaning in pain at the pressure on his scalp.

Sharp teeth were embedded into his ear before Judal hissed again. " _Scream._ "

"G-get l-lost," he managed to stutter out, his voice venom despite the weakness in it.

Judal didn't like that answer.

He was thrown back onto the floor, his hips grabbed with fingernails digging straight into the skin. Judal pounded into him even more brutally than before, roaring in anger.

_So it would be Judal to be the one screaming then._

Ja'far gasped and whimpered, fingers scrabbling on the floor to find anything to hold onto to. It hurt so badly. It hurt to his core.

"Very well then," Judal hissed, not pausing his hammering hips, "let's play it your way. Let's not scream. I'll get you pregnant first, and I'll hang around to see Sinbad's reaction when he finds you later on. I won't confront him now, just like you wish. Isn't that nice of me, you ugly bitch?"

Ja'far gritted his teeth, trying to keep his sounds in.

Judal leant forward again, gripping his bruised breasts from either side, squeezing them cruelly.

"Make me come then, you filthy whore. Milk me until you get my babies."

Ja'far couldn't help a soft sob spilling over his lips, the pain becoming too much. He was sore, every thrust of Judal's hips feeling like sandpaper being rubbed inside of him. With another sharp squeeze on his breasts his body tightened up, as if that would help ward off the angry magi.

Judal moaned obnoxiously. "Yeah, that's it. Be a good whore and do that again."

Judal played with his body like just another toy to be destroyed. He repeated the squeeze, forcing the same reaction out of Ja'far's body. He kept going until he finally hunched over and moaned uncontrollably, his body shuddering over Ja'far's. As he finally pulled out Ja'far could feel the stream of hot fluid follow.

"There we go. How does it feel, huh? Nice and abused? I bet your idiot king would never do this to you, he'd treat you like some exotic flower." Judal spit on his back, and Ja'far flinched once again, his legs trembling to keep himself raised on his knees.

"All we need now is a little spell to make this whoring flower into a fruit, now do we?"

With one last whimper Ja'far sagged, his legs sprawling over the cold tiles.

_Sin never came to save him_.

...

_Hearing_

Everything was remarkably silent. He had never heard such perfect silence before in his life, and he thought he'd experienced quite a lot.

In the midst of the night of the palace there would be faint sounds of men drinking or guards marching through the courtyard. Always a voice somewhere, no matter how quiet. Always the patter of feet, be it someone with ill intentions or a child on its way to its mother.

At sea - even with still winds - there would be the licking of waves and the creaking of the wood of the ship. The sea was never silent, no matter how unprovoked it was. And a ship never ceased making noises - probably even after sinking.

In the middle of a desert there would be a soft breeze, or the crisp sound of things buried in the sand being heated, or the softest wisp of movement of a scorpion or other desert animal. As close as it would get to silence, movement never stopped. If you listened - _really listened_ \- it was never really quiet.

And even in the silence of sleep, there would be the everlasting whisper of thoughts and dreams he couldn't push away. Memories crying, dreams shouting, thoughts demanding attention. Sleep might be the least quiet of places, actually, almost tied in noise with a busy bar full of drunken sailors.

But now, even his thoughts were silent things. Flashing images without sound. And around him no whispers of movement or air, no creaking nor moaning, no distant voices of animal or man.

Pure silence.

And when he opened his eyes and stabbed the man in front of him, no sound was made either. Even though the man opened his mouth and looked like he screamed, and he should at least have gasped and the knife should at least have made a wet noise of connecting to flesh.

But maybe there was no sound possible after an explosion like just now.

The man fell backwards, the magical devices in his hands dropping to the floor. They made no sounds as they skidded over the stone tiles, just like the man didn't create the expected hollow thud of a body hitting a floor flat on the back.

Ja'far had to wonder what the use of these magical devices was. They made such a loud sound Ja'far's vision had blacked out for a moment, everything consumed by the booming noise pressed against his ears by the man who had approached him with a friendly smile. But then the man hadn't used his chance to attack. Or perhaps Ja'far wasn't supposed to have recovered from the noise so fast?

Perhaps it was supposed to have knocked Ja'far out. It was certainly loud enough for it.

But his vision had blacked, time had stopped. And when he grasped back his consciousness the man hadn't yet moved, body open for all kinds of attacks. Of course Ja'far would react quickly and use the blatant opening to stab the man. He wasn't known as a forgiving type when it came to physical attacks.

He felt a hot trickle running down either side of his face. He gingerly lifted a hand, wiping at the warm trace.

Looking at his hand, he found his pale fingers stained with blood.

Were his ears bleeding...?

He was startled by a hand on his shoulder, and he whipped around with his knives ready. He hadn't heard a single sound to alert him on the arrival of a newcomer - no breath, no rustle of clothes, no step on the ground-

He stumbled back, pulling his dagger back just in time to avoid delivering fatal damage to his king. Sinbad gave him a startled look, pulling his injured arm back to his body - his injured arm, stabbed by _Ja'far_! How did this happen?

Sinbad's lips moved, the man looking frantic.

But no sounds filled the air. No deep voice reached Ja'far's ears.

Only the trickle of his blood soundlessly dripping down his face.


	13. Sanity 3 and Toes 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had several requests for yet another continuation on Sanity. The most difficult one of all to continue. Did my sadism rub off on my readers and you people are now bullying me with it?
> 
> Special thanks to Obsidian Buterfly (on FFN) for helping me out with getting this madness this... ehm... mad :P And after writing that, there was no way to avoid the sarcasm in the second drabble.

_Sanity 3_

There was a man with white hair standing on the other side of the bars. Outside his cell. Outside his confinement.

Free to go, free to walk, free to avenge his king.

That man.

And he looked at him with pity.

Of course he would. Why wouldn't he pity a man desperate to save his king? Desperate to avenge the death of the one he loved? Desperate to find the life that was worth much much much more than his own?

Why wouldn't he pity poor Ja'far where he was locked away and helpless? _Pity_. So _weak_.

He didn't want any pity though. He had no use of pity. What he wanted was these bars to move aside and give him his freedom. His freedom given to him by his king, all those years ago. His freedom to serve one person, and one person only. Forever. Until he died.

 _He didn't die_.

The man said something, but he couldn't really care. This man was unimportant. He wasn't his king. He wasn't High King of the Seven Seas. Nor was he simply Sin.

He was nothing at all, to Ja'far.

He didn't even know him.

Fucking bastard.

_Leave me alone!_

"Ja'far." The man stressed again. "Listen to me."

_Oh?_

Well, he supposed he could listen for just a moment. - _Listen to what?-_ Perhaps he was going to be let out of this stinking hole. Maybe this man could provide him with the freedom. So he could hurry to his king's side. So he could kill and murder and mangle everyone who dared to even _look_ at _his_ Sin wrong. _His_ Sin and _his_ king and _his his his-_

Nobody could free him like his king had done. This man could open his cage, but his freedom was in Sin's hands. Nobody else. He was as free as ever, only locked away. But nobody could give him what his king could, and nobody could take away what his king had given him. - _away what his Sin had given him._

"You should calm down and listen to me. Please Ja'far, don't do this to us! We need you!"

_Who are you?_

Need him? He needed no one! Only Sin! Sin was the reason of his existence, Sin was the start and the end, Sin was his light and his dark, Sin was his blood and his pain and his love and his hurt. Only Sin.

What he needed was to get out of here. What he needed was being free and being with Sin _and not being here where Sin wasn't_. He needed his living king, not the dead one. _Was his king dead?_

_No!_

He hissed at the man, and the man flinched back.

"Have you really lost it then? Is there nothing left in that head of the Ja'far we know?"

_Not without Sin._

Ah, that was a sad thought. Was Sin really gone then? If there was no Ja'far... _Who?_ -did that mean there was no Sin? Ja'far couldn't afford losing himself as long as his king was there to serve. He needed to give him everything. His body, his soul, his mind. He adored Sin. _He worshipped Sin_.

_Was Sin dead?_

So if Ja'far was gone... That meant there was no Sin to serve. No other way to lose Ja'far but to lose Sin first. _Oh Sin..._

How could he have let this happen? How could he lose Sin? How could he lose the one and only light of his existence, all of his wishes, all of his happiness, all of his sacrifice, all of his prayers-?

He was lost, so lost. There was nothing left of him.

Without Sin, there was nothing. Nothing at all.

_Sin couldn't be dead._

This world was void. This life was void. Nothing worth living for, nothing worth _existing_ for.

Not without Sin.

Not without his truth and his law. His Divine and his All.

"Ja'far..." Through blurry watery eyes he could see the man cry. Cry for Sin. Cry for lost Ja'far. Eyes red rimmed in a tan face. And he hiccupped- sobbed. Because he was nobody but an empty shell of a raging animal.

_Not without Sin._

...

_Toes 4_

It took forever before Masrur would allow him to even roll over in the bunk bed he'd been given. After the Fanalis had silently catalogued all of his wounds, he had deemed him unfit to be up and put him down in the bed.

Forcefully - as Ja'far didn't agree.

But no matter how he disagreed, he knew Masrur would have the last word in this situation.

So Masrur put him down on his front so the gashes on his back could heal better, a pillow tucked underneath his ankles to keep his feet from touching the bed, and a whole bunch of smaller cushions underneath him to create a bed-sized ship to accommodate Ja'far's every injury and limb.

It was like he was still tied up, but this time without any allowed movement. And he had a proper guard this time, who was more devoted to keeping him in place than any guard he'd ever had while he was locked away in the Kou Empire.

He had never thought of Masrur as such a slave driver before.

But eventually the wounds on his back healed enough to allow Ja'far to persuade Masrur to let him at least turn over, and he was granted the bliss of a new view - the top of his bunk instead of the head end of his bunk.

Well, at least he had a new wood pattern to study now.

_Oh joy._

Of course, just because he was allowed to turn over once, didn't mean he was free to turn over any time now. Oh no. Not at all. Masrur made sure he remained in place, and only when his complaining and nagging became bad enough to give the Fanalis a headache he was gently lifted and flipped over with a care so tender even a baby would laugh at the uselessness of it all.

All in all, Ja'far had to wonder whether escaping the torture of Kouen was really worth getting the torture of Masrur in its stead.

But even that stage came to an end. He actually managed to convince the Fanalis he wasn't one of the fragile pieces of glass in the laboratory of Yamraiha. And then Masrur allowed him to turn over himself, and - dare he say it? - sit _up_ in his bed.

That certainly made life a lot more pleasant. He could now enjoy the view of the entire cabin - oh, how nice, more wood - and eat without having to be fed while still drooling half out over his pillows because gravity didn't agree with his eating position.

But he wouldn't admit to _begging_ Masrur for something to work on, something to read, _anything_ to stave off this utter boredom. Because honestly, when he closed his eyes he was still seeing the wood patterns of his bunk bed, so long had he been watching them.

Yet - surprise! - Masrur had no such thing on the ship - and if he had, he was a pretty good liar about it. So he just had to suck it up and continue his deep philosophies on wood grain.

And then finally the day came Masrur allowed him out of bed.

It was a surprise, actually. Of course Ja'far had been nagging about it for ages, but Masrur wasn't one to give in easily. Ja'far wouldn't be getting up until Masrur decided it was a good idea, and he had honestly not been expecting that would happen before they got back to Sindria.

In hindsight, Masrur should have kept him in bed after all.

Turning his legs over the edge of the bed had been... blissful. For no particular reason. But he saw Masrur frown at the bandages on his feet - he could _see_ the Fanalis changing his mind, the cogs turning in that head and everything - so he grabbed the chair next to his bunk and propelled himself forward to standing position-

-and face first onto the floor.

He should've seen that one coming, probably.

Masrur was on him in less than a second, pulling him up and setting him back down on the bed. Large hands touched up his face, brushing his bangs aside to see if there was any damage, before quickly moving down to see if everything else was ok.

Ah, he might've started bleeding from his feet again. Masrur was never going to let him up again.

He should've known, really. He hadn't been able to walk when he was making his pitiful escape out of the Kou Empire, what made him think he could on a moving ship? It was like trying to stand on stilts - impossible to feel where you are or to find any balance. A rocking ship wasn't exactly the best of places to start finding balance on your feet again.

Masrur hadn't known.

In a way he was lucky for getting that far under Masrur's watchful eyes because of the Fanalis' ignorance.

But on the other hand... Masrur only got stricter with Ja'far after that blunder.

Who would've thought it would be Masrur ordering Ja'far around in the end? Such a sad fallback of his life.

But he couldn't really complain out of his heart, and he knew that Masrur could hear that at every empty complaint he uttered. Because if anything, Masrur was making sure he felt cared for. Masrur was sure to make him feel loved again as long as Sinbad wasn't there to do it for him.


	14. Motion and Masculinity 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had two requests for something fairly similar, in which Ja'far loses his entire body (without dying). Motion is the first of these two, the other drabble will be in the next chapter.

_Motion _

He only heard the silent steps behind him in the quiet hallway when it was already too late.

Maybe he had become too much at ease, and he might have relaxed a little too much. But the one sneaking up on him was good at what he did, and he didn't hear him coming right up to the moment he was directly behind Ja'far. And when Ja'far wanted to turn around and see who it was, he had already received a sharp blow in the neck, sending him tumbling to the floor like a lifeless doll.

_The sickly wet sound of cracking bone in his neck echoed in his ears louder than thunder._

Strangely enough, he didn't lose consciousness.

He had ended up face first on the floor, and his forehead and nose were aching... But the rest wasn't. It was kind of intriguing how he couldn't feel his limbs.

No, intriguing might not be the best of words. But then again, it was a good attempt at staying calm. Because right now he was lying on a stone floor in the palace in the middle of the night, and someone with ill intentions was out there. This person could be here to kill Sinbad, and Ja'far was just laying around doing nothing.

So rather than dwelling on his own incapacities - really, no response from his body at all? - he might try to find out what exactly had happened.

Or not.

His breathing grew heavy, and he could feel the blood rushing to his head. He was panicking alright.

He couldn't _feel_ anything! His face was hurting, the skin of his cheeks burning in his panic, but that was all! His hands, his feet- his complete arms and legs and his torso were just _absent_. Someone was going to kill Sin and he couldn't even _move_!

From the corner of his eye could see the scrolls scattered over the floor. He could feel the cold of the floor seeping into his face. _But not in the rest of his body._ He could see the empty hallway, no assassin in sight. It was dark, but he _could see everything_.

Yet he couldn't get up. He couldn't move. He couldn't feel anything.

He couldn't calm his breathing either. He knew his chest was heaving by the shift of his head, but he couldn't feel it. He couldn't control it. The air started to sting in his throat, and he was _thankful_ because he was _feeling_ it.

The scrolls on the floor were starting to turn blurry, and he desperately wanted to wipe the tears from his eyes. He couldn't afford to have his vision blurred by something useless as tears. He needed to get his act together and sound the alarm. There was an intruder to kill his king!

But he was as helpless against the despairing tears on his face as he was against the hyperventilating. Unable to move.

A choked sound escaped his throat.

_Why wasn't he shouting?_

The sudden realisation was like a punch in the gut. Why wasn't he? Was he stupid?

"H-help!" He tried to clear his throat, his voice annoyingly broken. He gasped for air. What was he even shouting?

"S-someone! H-help! W-wake... Up!"

 _He couldn't_.

His voice was weak, and he couldn't breathe. He was going to faint after all.

 _Someone please save Sin_.

...

_Masculinity 2_

To be perfectly honest, the whole awkwardness of the situation was almost as bad as the practical problems it had brought with it.

The pain wasn't a problem. Yamraiha had some splendid painkillers among her potions. He didn't feel a thing. Not even when he-

-this was just too damn awkward for all parties involved.

He knew it was Yamraiha who had given him the first aid when Sinbad had found him. Nobody told him what exactly they had done with the man, but he honestly doubted it was any good. He remembered losing consciousness as the man had jolted his body, pulling his hips up... He didn't have the guts to ask anyone how exactly they found him. Considering how the idiot had insisted he was a girl and went as far as cutting of his- The man had been saying he was going to use him as revenge for killing the other guy. The other guy, who had been approaching him with the intent to kill Ja'far, no less.

By the time he had been transported to a bed and woken up he was completely free of pain thanks to Yamraiha, so he hadn't found out whether the guy had actually gotten to raping him.

_He wasn't going to ask._

He knew it was Yamraiha who stopped the bleeding from between his legs. She was the only one present at the time who could do such a thing. Similarly, he doubted they had found some obscure local healer to take care of his wounds after securing themselves a hotel outside the dangerous area they had been exploring.

Sinbad wouldn't have allowed anyone else to take care of Ja'far so... intimately.

He could only imagine Yamraiha's face as she would work between his legs, while he was blissfully unconscious. There had been the bleeding to stop, of course. But even with her spells she couldn't just heal the thing and have it over with. Some vital parts were missing and she needed the flesh to heal by itself until she could fix that.

And in the mean time, she apparently pierced his lower body and penetrated it with a tube of a strange material, redirecting the - _uhm_ \- exiting path of his bladder.

And ever since he woke up, he cringed at every _drip_ and every _squirt_ resounding from underneath his bed, where the tube ended above a bucket.

And Yamraiha would flinch with him, both their faces a colour as rich as the rubies on Sinbad's metal vessels.

Sinbad seemed too preoccupied to join their little flinching contest though.

"Yamraiha..."

They both turned to their king, their faces equally red.

"Yes, my king?"

"There's no way to put it back on, is there?"

Ja'far spluttered, and Yamraiha ducked her head, steam practically emitting from her face.

"Uhm, no, that'd be impossible. The - uhm - appendage" - _cringe_ \- "is long dead. Even if I would reattach it, it would... uhm..."

Sinbad lifted an eyebrow at her, but Ja'far made an indignant sound before she could attempt to finish her sentence. It was painfully obvious after all. "Sin! I'm not going to walk around with a rotting dick just for the sake of having one! That's disgusting!"

Yamraiha whimpered in her embarrassment, and Sinbad looked thoughtful.

"Yes. I suppose you have a point there."

"Good grief, try to be realistic," he grumbled, sinking back against the pillows. "I couldn't care less about missing this particular part of my body. I'll be happy if Yamraiha can fix that annoying tube, but other than that the whole body part was more of nuisance than anything-"

"Oh, come on, Ja'far. You can't possibly be this relaxed about losing something like that! Are you are man or what?"

Ja'far made to sit up, giving his king a cold glare. _"Not anymore, I'm not."_


	15. Control and Voice 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there is the other drabble of Ja'far losing his body, in a way. I'm having some trouble writing at the moment, so it will take a while until the next chapter even though I have plenty new ideas and requests laying around now. Sorry for the wait in advance...

_Control_

"What a nice surprise. We won the grand prize today."

Ja'far gasped for breath, but that was about the extent of what he could do. He hung in the opening of the door like a bug caught in the web of a spider. He couldn't move a single muscle of his body, everything going limp all at once. But he didn't drop to the ground. He remained standing, frozen.

"We were just hoping on some servant you know."

A man stepped forward, into Ja'far's line of sight. A staff was extended towards him, and used to physically pull him inside. Ja'far could hear the door closing behind him, even though he was unable to look around.

Why hadn't he fallen when the man pulled him forward? How come his foot had taken that step inside, even though it refused to obey Ja'far's will completely? He had moved on his own, yet he had done no such thing at the same time.

He wanted to speak. Wanted to ask what these men were doing. But he found the muscles of his face to be just as unresponsive as the rest of his body.

"If you would be so kind to step forward, Lord Ja'far?"

The voice of the man was sickening, but with a light touch of his staff Ja'far started moving. _He moved again!_ He didn't want to obey this man's orders, and yet his body was doing exactly that. Stiffly stepping forward, into the darkness of the room. Until he stopped in front of a table, where another man was seated.

With another staff.

What were these magicians doing here? And what was their business abducting someone from the palace? Did they even know what they were bringing upon themselves by restraining Ja'far against his will?

"Dear general of Sindria," the man at the table stood, leaning forward into Ja'far's personal space with a smirk, "please listen carefully. We have been hired to assassinate your lovely king. And you will be the one doing the dirty work for us."

Ja'far seethed, he wanted to spit the man in his face, he wanted to tell him off and hiss, he wanted to stab him right into that yellow eye that kept turning away from him like a disobedient pet. Yet his face remained slack, caught in whatever spell it was these men had cursed him with.

"No protests? How nice, that will make it easier."

 _He was going to skin this man alive the moment this spell would even give him the slightest control back over his body_.

"Well then, all you have to do is turn around, saunter into that king's bedroom, and slit his throat. We don't even have to provide you with a weapon, do we? So very convenient."

Ja'far could feel his body turning around, but he wasn't walking away just yet. The magicians didn't want him yet.

"From this point on, your body won't listen to you anymore at all." He would've shuddered at the closeness of the man's voice. He could still feel the heat of the filthy magician's skin as he hovered right next to his ear. "You are disconnected. You will carry out our orders, and once you complete your task you will remain motionless until we give you a new order."

A finger traced over his cheek. _Disgusting_.

"You'll be our loyal little marionette doll until you die, and then we can get a new one."

"I think this one is going to last," the other magician - outside Ja'far's field of vision - answered smugly. "This is not just some streetrat or fragile maid. This is one of the eight generals. I don't think we'll have to find ourselves a new one for quite a while."

"That would be nice," the other snickered, still right into Ja'far's ear. "Will you be a good doll? You can kill the king, right?"

No matter how much Ja'far wanted to slip out a knife and kill these bastards, his body remained motionless. His face remained blank. He was helpless. All he could do was watch, hear, feel - but he couldn't _do_ anything. He couldn't even warn people for himself.

"Well, get on with it. We haven't got all day."

His body set into motion, the first few steps stiff like he was a wooden doll. But by the time he lifted an arm to open the door, his movements seemed to smooth out, regaining their natural balance and poise. Walking exactly like he always walked. Looking exactly like he always did.

Looking all the way the general of Sindria, the king's trusted vassal, the controlled government official.

Nothing on him looked amiss, nothing of his budding panic showing on his face.

"Oh, Ja'far? Smile."

A slow smile spread on his face as he walked towards his king's bedchambers, his knives heavy on his arms.

...

_Voice 3_

Just standing behind Sinbad wasn't going to work, was it?

The man was quite engrossed in the book he was reading - a book, might Ja'far add, which had nothing to do with the impressively large stack of work the king had accumulated. Normally Sinbad would have some awareness of his surroundings, but even Ja'far's most malicious intent couldn't shake him from whatever exciting tale he was reading right now.

Normally, all Ja'far had to do was get angry - and not a sound was needed to wake his king up from the deepest of sleep and have him running with his tail between his legs. So either Ja'far was losing his touch, or this book was so insanely good it would suck someone in more strongly than sleep.

That, or Sinbad was caught up in some spell that froze him in place, forcing him to read that wretched book until eternity.

He would wish.

Ja'far tapped his foot impatiently, but even the soft sound that made wouldn't attract the man's attention. Then again, his anger usually had a bigger presence in a room than a sound that soft, so it was to be expected.

He sighed, and paced around the desk, looming over Sinbad from and angle the king was sure to see him even with his eyes trained on the book in his hands. His fingers drummed on his arm angrily, still waiting for his king to just realise he was there.

If he had a voice, he would've made a cold remark by now. If he had the courage, he'd have touched his shoulder. But as it was, he didn't have a voice. And touching his king wouldn't result in any work being done, as Sinbad would take any opportunity to 'distract' him in less appropriate ways nowadays. A simple touch had proven to be such an opportunity to Sinbad plenty times before.

Not that he didn't enjoy the 'distractions', but there was work to be done. And he couldn't just indulge himself shamelessly like that. He hadn't _deserved_ that kind of indulgence. He had been quite the bother lately, lacking a voice and all, so first he'd need to make up for all that before he could feel good about a moment of distraction with his king. Sinbad was simply too forgiving when it came to Ja'far's mistakes.

But he was still being ignored. Either Sinbad was not willing to acknowledge his presence, or he really had no clue Ja'far was standing _right there_ next to him. And he wasn't quite enough of an actor to keep a straight face if he knew of Ja'far being there.

Not with Ja'far this angry for being ignored.

Not with such a large stack of unattended work on his desk.

No doubt Sinbad _knew_ Ja'far was going to turn up at some point to just get him do his work already. But right now, the king was most thoroughly distracted.

And flipped a page of the bound book, remaining completely oblivious.

 _That was enough_.

He slipped one of his daggers into his hand, and with a large swing it smacked loudly in the wood of the desk, right next to Sinbad's book. Sinbad jumped and stumbled back, shouting out in surprise.

He overbalanced over the chair, tipping backwards with the piece of furniture on the hard tiled floor, the book skidding away from them.

Ja'far simply raised an eyebrow, his glare still present.

"D-d-don't scare me like that! You want my heart to stop or something?"

Ja'far's huffed through his nose, pulling his dagger out of the desk before offering his king a hand to get up.

Sinbad gratefully caught it, hefting himself to his feet using Ja'far's weight. Obviously, pulling Ja'far into his chest was done on purpose, and strong arms circles around his body immediately.

Ja'far wasn't in the mood for his king's games though. Not after being ignored for so long.

He pushed away and gestured angrily at the stack of work on Sinbad's desk.

"Yeah, yeah, I was getting to it." Sinbad pouted. "I just got a little distracted by that book." Sinbad turned, as if only just realising he had sent the book flying through the office.

 _A little distracted_ he said. _Getting to it_ he said. He didn't even have a new excuse to give.

Before Sinbad could step away to retrieve his book, Ja'far had gripped his ear. Sinbad yowled in pain - overreacting, shamelessly - and bowed towards Ja'far to ease the pull. Ja'far merely bend over to pick up the chair from the floor, and he forced his king down in it.

"Ja'faaaar," Sinbad complained with a whiny voice, folding a hand over his ear as soon as he was released.

Ja'far ignored him - not that he could've responded - and slapped the first scroll of Sinbad's work in front of him on the desk, sliding over the vial of ink and his pen. And with a sharp glare, he had forced his king back to work.

Such a pain in the ass.


	16. Past 3 and Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me some time to create the requested continuation on Past, as I wasn't quite sure where to go with it. The other drabble will be a strange one in the series, as this will be something Ja'far can (and will) recover from. I might give it a continuation, even though it doesn't abide the rules of the series properly. Just know I usually avoid drabbles that don't fit in the series, and I will normally twist a request to make it fit if I get the chance.

_Past 3 _

He wondered where these scars came from. This Sinbad guy hadn't seemed all to impressed with them, merely passing over the scars as if they weren't there, looking for fresher wounds. But he himself - _Ja'far was his name_ \- thought they were kind of noticeable, and standing out.

Or were they perhaps a normal thing? Did everyone have scars like these? He might just be failing to remember, once again.

Perhaps it was a test of manliness to have your thighs cut open and roughly stitched back up?

Sounded pretty twisted to him.

"Ja'far, you shouldn't be standing around with your robes hiked up like that."

When he looked up Sinbad was giving him a rueful smile, and gesturing he should drop the robes where he was holding them up. But the robes were too long, and he wanted to look at these scars. He wanted to know what they were.

Perhaps Sinbad could tell him.

"What are these?" He lifted the hem of the robes even higher and pointed at his thighs.

When Sinbad didn't answer directly, he looked up in confusion. Strangely enough, the man was blushing, covering his mouth with one hand embarrassedly.

Did that mean the scars were something personal? Was it like a ritual after all? Or did he get them in an embarrassing accident?

Or - even worse - was it Sinbad's fault he got these and he was making that face because he felt guilty about it?

He tilted his head, studying Sinbad where he stood. Sinbad was staring at the scars. So he supposed he was thinking of the best way to phrase an answer. But he was taking very long.

"They're, uhm... You already had those scars when I first met you. So you got them at a very young age... You never really told me the details though."

That didn't tell him much. Apart from the fact that Sinbad hadn't known him his entire life. And that the scars were really old, even though they were still very visible.

He reached between his legs, tracing the raised edge of skin. It was really thick. And hard. And even though the hairs on his legs were stark white and barely visible to begin with, they only outlined the hairless scars even better. The paleness of his own skin made the scars look like they practically reflected light.

"Ja'far." Sinbad sounded tense.

He glanced up, only to see the man looking very tense in general, the redness of his face even brighter now. Sinbad twisted slightly on his feet, looking uncomfortable where he stood.

"Stop doing that. Drop your robes."

"Why?"

If possible, that made Sinbad look even more uncomfortable.

"Just don't. You can't go around showing your thighs to people, and you definitely can't touch your thighs like that in front of someone else."

"But why?"

"Ugh." Sinbad pinched the bridge of his nose, his other hand going down to straighten a part of his robes. He looked like the heat was bothering him severely. Perhaps he was feeling jealous because Ja'far was having a cool breeze hiking his robes up like this, while Sinbad had to suffer with all those layers of clothes. He looked like he was carrying heavy things in a front pocket too, although he was clearly trying to shift his clothes to make that less visible.

Why would people in a country this hot wear so many clothes anyway? Sinbad didn't look like he'd burn, because he was all tanned. And as long as they were inside, Ja'far wouldn't burn either.

"We can take it off if you're hot," he offered helpfully. Sinbad had been nothing but kind to him up until now. And he knew he was loyal to this man. So surely, it was only natural for him to suggest things that would increase his comfort, right?

But Sinbad only lowered his head and turned away, pulled his robes away from his stomach, and grunted unhappily.

"Just lower your damn robes already."

...

_Blood _

He wasn't quite sure what he was seeing. Although the sight didn't look particularly strange. Not at all. He'd seen bleeding limbs plenty of times.

But this had been done very cleverly. His vision was swimming, so it took some time before he could actually identify the pale long object as an arm, and the bright red as blood. But it wasn't an arm torn open by razor sharp teeth, or cut savagely with a knife. It wasn't burned and oozing blood from hot fire nor was it crushed by some heavy weight and now bleeding like a cracked egg losing its contents.

No, the cut was very small, and very precise. The one who made that cut knew what he was doing, and did it with the intent of extracting as much blood as possible.

Though obviously, to kill someone you shouldn't cut their arm in a place like that. You'd rather choose an artery instead of a vein, and there were plenty smarter locations on the body to cut those open. Thighs, throat, wrists- it wasn't that difficult, really. And aside from those there were plenty more lethal places to cut or stab, like the kidneys, or if you have a long knife or scalpel the eyes would work fine too. So this cut was not made to kill.

It was made to bleed.

But why would you do such a thing? Losing so much blood would make one weak, so maybe it would be to incapacitate a person without killing them? Killing someone - _murdering_ someone - was a pretty heavy crime after all, so if you want someone out of the way without getting hunted down after, knocking them out differently would be a smart move. Like knocking one over the head really hard. But then again, if the one who made this cut was a fragile person - small, weak, afraid even? - they couldn't have knocked another out by force. This was such a well placed and clean cut, it didn't look like it came from a burly warrior. This was the work of a woman. Or a scholar? Women do have the tendency to have a good aim if given the time though. For as much as men like to ban their wives to the kitchen, the kitchen is the perfect place to learn how to cut at the exact right place to get stuff done. He'd seen women gut rabbits and fish with an ease and perfection he hadn't even seen his fellow assassins capable of.

A woman would be perfectly capable of a small perfect cut like this, and she'd usually have the tools available too. A woman might have trouble knocking out a man with sheer strength, so that's why she would have to revert to a method like this. A woman wouldn't look like a threat to a man who knew she couldn't knock him out, granting her all the time she needed to surprise him with an attack like this.

It made perfect sense.

But then why was there a surgical scalpel on the table next to the bed? That complicated his thoughts. With everything being this blurry, he couldn't have noticed the scalpel before. But it looked like a doctor's tool. Something that would be used to cut open patients in order to have dangerous elements removed from their bodies.

But that didn't make any sense at all! Blood wasn't a dangerous element to a body. Blood was life to a body. Without blood, one dies. If someone needs medical assistance, that means they are already weakened. Removing blood would be dangerous!

So was it a murder after all then? This cut in the arm was this small in order for it to go unnoticed when the body was found? If they would find a body bled dry they would look for wounds in the arteries, not the veins, right? But the arm was such an obvious place, it would be noticeable even if they wouldn't look for it. If this was murder, it was surely planned out badly.

Or perhaps it was a medical treatment after all? Thinking of it, there were places with rather obscure healing methods. He heard of a culture where they would let blood flow in order to drain an illness. It was a preposterous thought, because instead of draining illness you drain health... but it existed. There were people who believed it worked. So this might be it.

He'd need to find this quack and tell him he should stop killing his patients with this. Where was the guy anyway?

Why was he here anyway?

_Wait, was that his own arm?_


	17. Motion 2 and Gender 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update when I have such a long to-do list from all your great requests. I'm afraid I got a little demotivated for writing more, but I had this laying around for a month. I hope to get the spirit to write new drabbles soon.
> 
> WARNING: We had plenty rape in Gender, but this is going to be the aftermath and it might be triggering!

_Motion 2_

It was all a bad dream.

It was all a bad dream.

_It was all a bad dream._

The day was bright. His bed was so soft and comfortable he couldn't even feel his limbs. He could smell fresh rain on the breeze from his window, pleasantly cool compared to what he would usually wake up to. But rain had passed and the sun was shining, sparkling, birds chirping enthusiastically on the ledge beneath his windowsill.

The only flaw in the day was the time he was waking up - if it was so bright out, he shouldn't be still in bed - and this heavy feeling of fatigue weighing him down after a nightmare.

Because if anything, that had been a very bad dream.

And he was more than happy waking up from it.

And as for the day having progressed to deeply into the morning, he could easily make up for that by working a bit harder, and a bit later. He never shied away from hard work before, after all.

It was not unusual for him to wake up from nightmares in which Sinbad was murdered and Ja'far was helpless to do anything about it. He would dream these dreams disturbingly often. So often, in fact, that he had increased the security of Sinbad's bedroom, and had Yamraiha deploy magicians just to keep an eye on Sinbad at all times. He had been called paranoid by everyone around him, but he had never regretted his decisions. There was no such thing as too protected. Not if it was about Sin.

"Ja'far!"

He was startled by the sudden cry next to his ear, and he would've jolted if not-

_If not - why?_

"Thank goodness you're awake, I was so worried!"

His eyes snapped to the side, spotting his king sitting next to his bed excitedly. He might've noticed Sinbad's heavy breath if he hadn't been so used to hearing it. If he'd get a coin for every time Sinbad snuck into his bed at night he'd be rich enough to own Sindria by now.

Funnily though, he wasn't quite capable of turning his head towards Sinbad. It was like he had sunk into the softness of his bed too deeply, and now the sheets and pillows were holding him down with gentle but insistent hands.

It was like he couldn't even feel his body anymore, so soft was his bed. He couldn't even feel the silky sheets on his skin.

 _He couldn't even twitch a finger_.

It was all a bad dream it was all a bad dream it was all a bad dream-

He remembered hyperventilating, and that was all it took to get him started again. Panic clawed through his body with icy tentacles, curling around his limbs in thorns so cold, so cold- His eyes flickered to his king standing by his bed, a deep gash on the man's tanned face, one of his strong hands wrapped up by a slightly bled through bandage.

 _Such a horrible bad dream_.

"Ja'far, calm down!" Sinbad quickly kneeled next to the bed, only the top of his head remaining within Ja'far's field of vision. Only purple hair, only a decorated turban, no face. And nothing happened. Sinbad moved, but he didn't touch Ja'far.

Why wasn't he touching Ja'far? Why wasn't he trying to soothe him like he did when he was still a child? Why didn't those large hands caress him and ease away the panic? Why wasn't he being held close to a warm chest?

_Why was nothing happening?_

_Why wasn't he feeling anything?_

"S-Siiin..."

Only the tears were still coming, and only the hot tracks they created down his face could be felt.

...

_Gender 3 _

"S-Sin..."

The taller man froze in place as he spotted Ja'far. Ja'far had wrapped himself up in his robes as well as he could and somehow made it to the baths unseen, but his luck wasn't to last. Whether it was an extremely badly timed coincidence or Sinbad's natural habit of always exactly knowing where he had to be, for some inexplicable reason Sinbad had chosen this day and this moment to stand in front of the door to the baths of the Purple Leo Tower.

And whether he'd recognise Ja'far like this or not, it wasn't like the king to ever ignore a woman whose whole appearance just shouted 'raped' - or at least 'assaulted'.

"Are you alright miss?"

It might've taken him a few seconds - possibly because he had to wrap his head around the fact that Ja'far looked like... well, Ja'far, but he was a woman so he couldn't be - but when Sinbad came back into action, he did it well. He shot forward and grabbed Ja'far by the arms, quickly pulling him through the doors into the baths. Ja'far flinched, but allowed his king to pull him along - he was Sin, after all. Sin wouldn't hurt him.

Sin...

"Come here, sit down." He was nudged down onto a stool, and Sinbad crouched before him, quickly cupping his face. "What happened to you? Who did this?"

"Sin..."

Sinbad blinked, looking confused and a little frustrated. "What? Who... who are you?"

Ja'far brought up a hand to press Sinbad's closer to his face, tilting his head in the other's grip. He hadn't wanted to cry. He was much stronger than this. But somehow, he just felt really weak right now. Weak, and dirty.

"Sin... It's me. Judal did this. He was angry at you turning him down, so he did this to me."

He hadn't intended to tell Sinbad all this either. He had meant to sneak into the baths, fix himself up, and then- His planning didn't go beyond that. Either he would've gone to Sinbad and revealed he was a woman now, but keep his silence about Judal. Or he'd have left the palace altogether, leaving a note to say he couldn't stay due to circumstances. Whatever he'd have done, he would've made sure he was clean and more composed by the time he would've faced Sin.

But now he wasn't clean, nor composed. There was no denying he'd been assaulted. And he was too upset - _too scared_ \- to lie to his king.

"Judal...? You are- Are you Ja'far after all?"

Sinbad's face was now slowly morphing from worried and frustrated into confused and angry. An angry that might've worried Ja'far in different circumstances. But now, now it _scared him_.

He nodded timidly, releasing Sinbad's hand to pull away. He knew Sinbad wasn't angry with him, but an angry Sinbad was a dangerous Sinbad. Sinbad was powerful, what if he decided to lash out at Ja'far too? _What if he'd do the same thing Judal did?_

But Sinbad would never do such a thing. This was the man he'd followed his entire life, he knew him inside out, he _knew_ Sinbad wouldn't even dream of doing such a thing.

So why was he scared of Sinbad now? Why was he scared of his touch now?

"Ja'far... What happened?" Sinbad tried to capture his face again, but Ja'far quickly caught his wrists to keep him away.

"I- I was caught by Judal... He was angry... To spite you, he turned me into a woman and- and... He..."

"Good god, Ja'far? Please tell me he didn't rape you?"

He flinched again, but this time it prompted Sinbad to pull his wrists free from Ja'far's grasp and move forward, quickly embracing Ja'far in a warm hug. _A warm, confining, threatening hug. Holding him down. Keeping him from getting away._

"S-Sin!"

Sinbad immediately pulled away, looking at him in shock. As shocked as Ja'far, because in his life, he couldn't remember ever calling out his king's name with so much fear in his voice.

He couldn't remember ever fearing Sinbad this genuinely. And the man he should be fearing wasn't even Sinbad.


	18. Fingers and Hearing 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very late update. You must've thought I dropped this by now~  
> I didn't drop it, I still have half a dozen requests and ideas laying about, but unfortunately I've been having a lot of trouble writing recently. I've turned to rping to fix this problem, but even if rping goes smoothly most of the time I can't get the muse for doing drabbles or finish the long story I'm still planning to publish some time. So bear with me, I hope you can bring up the patience to wait.

_Fingers_

Ja'far pulled on his hands, a little listlessly. He had been doing this for over an hour, and he somehow doubted he was going to succeed any time soon. Yet he wasn't one for giving up. In fact, giving up wasn't an option. He couldn't just remain standing here for the rest of his days. But that didn't make the situation any less hopeless.

He was stuck. _Very_ stuck.

He wasn't completely sure in what, or how. It was a strange metal contraption. He had seen a metal table, and he had noticed strange writing on it. Then he unsuspectingly slid his fingers over the relief, hoping he could find out more by the touch. Unfortunately, the table didn't seem to like being touched.

The moment he put his finger on the letters the table split, and moved. It was almost as if he was bitted by a dog, the table top turning into a gaping jaw. If he didn't hear the cogs moving he would've thought the table was actually alive, but the sounds and the shocking movements all pointed on an explosively fast mechanism.

Intriguing as that was, he was now stuck with his finger between two heavy metal blocks. And he couldn't even pass the time by reading the strange writing, seeing the side with the letters was digging deep in the bottom of his fingers.

It didn't actually hurt all that much. Well, it hurt pretty nastily, but he would've expected worse. He guess he had just already numbed to the pain, his fingers likely crushed completely. He wondered if they would heal after this. He sure hoped so. He only had his thumbs, pinkie fingers and one ring finger preserved, not exactly the most useful ones. But no doubt Yamraiha would be able to fix him.

Assuming he would be getting out of here.

He would just have to wait for someone to start wondering where he was. Sinbad would come looking for him.

"Ja'far!"

Or someone else. He turned his head, smiling sheepishly at the Imuchakk. "Hinahoho! I'm so happy to see you! Could you lend me a hand?"

"Have you been standing here all the time we were looking for you?" Hinahoho approached him quickly. "Are you stuck? That looks painful, let me take a look."

Ja'far nodded, happy Hinahoho understood so fast. Sharrkan would've needed half an hour explanation before doing anything.

"How... how did you get stuck in this?"

"Booby trap," Ja'far replied curtly. "There was writing - I just touched it. Stupid mistake, really."

"But... how? This can't move, Ja'far! The mechanism only goes one way and blocks in the other. We'll have to destroy it, but I'm not sure if we can get your hands out safe."

Ja'far shrugged, making a sound in disgust. "It's my own fault. My fingers are crushed anyway."

"That was a pretty level headed response for someone who's losing his fingers at the moment." Hinahoho looked at him disapprovingly. "Will you ever learn?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nevermind." The Imuchakk sighed, pulling his weapon from his back. "Can you turn a little to protect your face? I'm going to try to break it."

Ja'far nodded and did as he was told, turning as well as he could and burying his face in his shoulder. He steeled himself, expecting this to hurt. He didn't mind. He deserved punishment for his stupidity.

With a loud clanging sound the horn came down on the contraption. But unlike expected, it didn't break. Instead it set off the next trap.

Ja'far screamed when his fingers were pierced with metal teeth, his whole body convulsing in sudden pain. Hinahoho shouted in shock, pulling back from the machine as Ja'far thrashed and struggled.

"Ja'far!"

He screamed again before biting his tongue until he tasted blood. The pain barely distracted him from the pain in his fingers, but it was enough to calm him down. He was breathing heavily and sweating profusely now, his eyes wide and mad with pain. _This wasn't what was supposed to happen!_

"D-don't worry! I'll get you out of here," Hinahoho promised nervously, "I just... I just need to get these out of your fingers. And get them out."

Ja'far gave him a wide eyed look. He already knew that wasn't going to work. And so did Hinahoho. The Imuchakk gave him a helpless look, clearly not liking the alternative. Neither did Ja'far. But he knew it was the only way now.

"Don't make me do that," the other begged. _Oh, they knew each other too well_. Hinahoho had learned to read him too easily.

" _Do it_ ," he hissed, his voice tight with pain.

Hinahoho hesitated, glancing at the ruined mess of Ja'far's fingers. It was really not much more than a bloody pulp now. They both knew it. Ja'far felt it, but didn't dare look anymore. It hurt. It burned and it stung and it ached and it was agony.

So his sigh was in honest relief when Hinahoho pulled out a knife.

...

_ Hearing 2   
_

Most of his life he would've paid good money for some quiet. Ever since he met Sinbad his life had been full of boisterous laughter and obnoxious sounds. Just how many times had he wished he could stab the man and enjoy some peace?

Of course he never did. He'd rather carve out his own eyes than hurt Sinbad. Unfortunately Sinbad wouldn't allow him to repent like that, so he was here with both eyes still in his skull as he bandaged up his king's arm, almost feeling like crying at his mistake.

Not that he would.

His anger for hurting Sinbad had initially distracted him from the eerie silence. But as Sinbad smiled and gave him reassuring pats on his arms, he calmed down a little. And as he calmed down...

The more he calmed down, the more he realised how inexplicably silent it was. And even though he had wished for silence for many years, this wasn't exactly what he had been looking for. This wasn't peaceful at all. This was _frightening_.

When he looked up he saw Sinbad give him a questioning look. As if waiting for an answer. But he hadn't heard a word.

_'I'm sorry, what did you say?'_

He shuddered, his eyes widening when he realised he couldn't even hear himself. He was certain he just asked a question. He had moved his lips, felt it in his throat. And he saw Sinbad looking surprised, and his king's lips moved in a response.

... _wrong._

Wrong? What was wrong? What did he say? That was the only word he managed to read from his lips in his shock. Was he wrong?

He moved back a little, shaking his head. He felt how he was starting to panic. Why didn't he hear anything? He could understand after that loud explosion, but it was long passed now. His ears should be working again. Why didn't they?

Sinbad grabbed his shoulders and forced him to look him in the eye - all completely silent. His lips moved, slow and clear.

_'Can't you hear?'_

Ja'far shook his head wildly. _'I can't hear anything!'_

He grimaced, disgusted by the silence while he knew he was speaking. Or was his voice gone too? Was the world just silent, and his ears were fine? _That had to be it!_

_No you fool, of course not._

He wanted to hit himself for hoping for something so unlikely. He was deaf.

_Why did this happen?_


	19. Motion 3 and Hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel lucky, I found the spirit for not one, but two more drabbles shortly after posting the last. So I'm able to give you another update today. The second drabble has been on my to-do list for a very long time, but I never quite figured out how I wanted to do it.

_Motion 3 _

They had only found him in the morning. He had spent the bigger part of the night passed out, fainted from his panic and hyperventilating without any option to move and ease it off. It wasn't the pain. There was no pain. But the mind numbing panic of not feeling his own limbs, not feeling his body, not feeling anything but his face-

It was a churning in his stomach he couldn't feel.

The dryness of his throat as he sucked in too much air, too fast - but he couldn't feel his chest or lungs protest against the overload.

The way his fingers were supposed to tingle in his panic, but they didn't.

Nothing was working the way it was supposed to, and he was helpless. Helpless on a cold tile floor he couldn't feel either.

Just his face.

His cheek was numb with the cold, his jaw aching for being pushed aside in his face down position. That was how they found him in the morning.

_But he hadn't been awake to warn them not to move him._

"Ja'far? Ja'far! What happened!"

The whole world turned and twisted round him as he was pulled upright in the bed, his body flopping back into Sinbad's arms like a lifeless doll. He was barely able to look up, his head rolling on his neck like a broken toy.

"Ja'far!"

"S-Sin," he managed to bring out, his voice hoarse, tears streaming down his face helplessly.

"Where are you hurt? Please tell me what happened? Why were you on the floor like that? ...Ja'far?"

Everything shook and moved with every jolt of Sinbad's body, his king's small panic shaking Ja'far up and making his vision go blurry again. _More blurry_. He had no way to counteract all the movements, to stabilise himself. He truly was nothing but a doll now.

"I-I got attacked," he rasped, "they broke my neck. Can't move. Sin... Sin are you okay? Did anyone else get hurt?"

"Attacked?" Sinbad's voice rose in pitch, and suddenly Ja'far's face was pressed into the other's chest, his mouth and nose closed off by expensive silk. _He couldn't struggle_.

The sounds of his neck were disgusting.

_Dammit, Sinbad was going to kill him like this._

"S-Sin!" His voice was muffled, but sharp. Sharper than before. No longer broken by tears, this was more important now. "Put me down! My _neck_ is broken!"

It was a little late, but Sinbad suddenly seemed to realise exactly what that entailed. He froze in place, gently lowering Ja'far a little so he was no longer muffled by his king's clothes.

"I-I'm sorry," he apologised tensely. "What... what do I do?"

"Don't move me anymore," Ja'far groaned. It was a miracle he even survived this much, especially with all the jumbling Sinbad just did. Maybe he was a little bit lucky after all.

_If you could call this lucky._

"I can't feel anything," he whispered, not even realising he was saying it out loud until it was done. He hadn't meant to complain to Sin, but somehow... somehow he felt safe now. Safe enough to admit his weakness. Safe enough to stop giving orders, to stop being angry, to stop panicking-

Safe enough to give in, give up, and accept.

_"I can't feel anything."_

He was useless now. Who needed a broken doll, after all?

...

_Hair _

He had blood in his eyes.

And no matter how much he wiped at his eyes and his face, the blood kept leaking down.

His vision was blurred and red. He wondered what had happened. Why was there so much blood?

It smelled like iron. It smelt scorched and sweet. Like burnt hair and skin.

He could feel blood seeping down his neck as well. Into the collar of his robes, down down down his spine, a heated trail of red. The colour that suited him best.

He had been fighting.

His knives were in his hands, the cords untangled from his arms on the floor. They were stained red, the thick liquid slowly dripping from the metal, running down the blood red cords to taint them even darker.

_No, he hadn't been fighting._

He had stabbed someone to protect himself, even if it seemed to have been too late. With the amount of blood running down his face and into his ears and down his back and shoulders- And with the bloodied bundle on white in the dead man's hand.

The guy had been good, he had to admit that. And Ja'far hadn't been on his guard as much as he should've.

He knew people had certain traditions in this area. He knew his white hair had drawn a lot of attention. He knew they had _wanted it_.

But for goodness sake, how should he have expected it to be done like this?

He thought scalping was something you did to the dead. He thought that if his hair was to be stolen it would be _just his hair_.

It wasn't _just his hair_ in the dead man's hand though.

_He couldn't feel a thing._

His head was numb. All he felt was the blood seeping down his skin, and a slight stinging in some places. But most of his head was completely numb.

He was afraid to look. He was afraid to move. He was a mess. There was blood everywhere and there was a corpse clinging to the skin of his head with all his hair.

 _He was a bloody mess and he was afraid of how he looked_.

He had been drenched in blood plenty times. But that wasn't the problem now. Because the white stained with red on his head wasn't his hair now.

How was he going to hide this?

 _Impossible_.

Slowly the feeling was returning to his head. He could feel the outline starting to burn, the edges of skin that were left. It burned and it stung. It hurt. But the bigger part of his skull remained completely senseless.

Would he be able to wash himself and hide what happened with his keffiyeh?

"J-Ja'far?"

_Too late._

He turned around with a sweet smile on his face, but it was too late to save anything in this situation. Pisti screamed .

And screamed again.

And fainted.

Ja'far wobbled, his turn making him realise how much blood he had lost.

"P-Pisti," he muttered, stepping towards her before collapsing as well.


	20. Arm 2 and Control 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sweet reviewer mentioned it was a shame Arm had no continuation. Well, that's actually kinda true, so I dug it back up.
> 
> Additional warning for vomiting

_ Arm 2 _

What he woke up to was the heaving of his own body, the sudden movement startling him awake even if his head felt like it was filled with cotton. Before he could register what was happening he felt large hands on his shoulder and chin, pushing him off balance from his sitting position. For a moment he thought he was going to fall, but he bumped sharply against smooth rock, the collision invoking another retching spasm from his torso.

Within moments he started to feel _everything_. His arm felt like it was being wrenched apart by giant hands, his head started thumping as if someone was hitting him with a wooden board and his stomach turned completely. The hands that had pushed him over were gently petting his hair as he weakly vomited up gastric acid over the side of the stone ledge.

He groaned painfully, and his muscles slowly relaxed - apparently done with throwing up whatever there was left in his system. As he relaxed he realised he was sitting in a half empty bathtub, and even with the world still spinning before his eyes he easily recognised the hands holding him upright and soothing him in his confused state were Hinahoho's. He lifted the arm that wasn't hurting as much to pat the Imuchakk's hand in gratefulness for his help.

He barely remembered what happened, but it was slowly getting back to him. He and Sinbad had been attacked - poisoned with darts. He managed to fight of three men and it had seemed there weren't any more. ...no doubt he wouldn't be alive here if there had been more.

He shifted, wanting to move, wanting to look around and find his king. He was still dizzy - no doubt courtesy of the poison - and the few clumsy movements were only rewarded with the large hands tightening on his shoulder and torso.

"Try not to move," he heard the voice of the Imuchakk tell him gently, quietly as if he was aware of his headache. "You made a big mess out there. I'm just trying to wash the blood off you, okay?"

"'kay," his voice was hoarse, breaking off half of the already short reply. Of course it was after just retching like that. Of course it was after that unnatural sleep. "D'you have some water?" He rasped, staring down at the red puddle he sat in. He had really made a mess, considering how much blood had already gathered there while his skin was still tainted and crusted. Cleanliness had hardly been a priority though. Sinbad had been.

Sinbad was alright, right? Hinahoho would've told him if he wasn't, right?

Hinahoho's hands didn't leave him, gently kept rubbing on the dried crusts of blood on his chest. But another set of hands appeared in his vision, a servant carefully pressing a cup of water to his lips. His hands twitched automatically to grab the cup, but one arm didn't respond properly, just a searing pain right below his shoulder in response to his movement.

He winced but drank carefully, keeping his arms down and eagerly allowing for the assistance he would normally deny. He was perfectly aware of the current weakness of his body. He doubted he would be able to lift the cup at all.

"I'm not surprised you wake up before Sinbad," Hinahoho told him conversationally as he finished drinking, even though he still kept his voice low. "Looking at you like this I think Sin will be going through hell when he wakes up from that poison."

Ja'far scoffed weakly, wincing at the pain that caused in his head. "He'll be whining," he croaked. "It's a strong poison, knocking me out that fast." He paused for a moment. "Is he okay?"

He could more feel than hear the low laugh rumbling in Hinahoho's chest at his question. "Yes he is. I wouldn't be sitting here this calmly if he wasn't. How about you, will you be okay?"

"I feel like shit," he groaned honestly. "And my arm hurts really bad." He started to turn his head to look at the damage, but to his surprise he was only met with Hinahoho's hand shooting up to his eyes.

"Try not to move the arm," the other told him calmly, as if he wasn't keeping Ja'far from looking at his own wounds. "We'll figure something out for that."

He frowned, turning his head a little more so he could peek at the Imuchakk's face from the side. "Hinahoho... you know what kind of things I have done to people's bodies. I can handle seeing a bad wound, even if it's my own."

"Yes."

His frown deepened, confused. He tried to move his hand again, but winced when once more it hurt just below his shoulder. It felt like needles were pricking in his skin all over his arm. _Was it burned?_

"Ja'far," Hinahoho warned lowly. "Stop that."

"Show me," he commanded sharply, ignoring his instincts to give in to Hinahoho's scolding. He would normally easily listen to the other, especially if he had already given in to being pampered like he was now. But not this time.

He needed to know.

"I don't want you to see." Hinahoho's voice had grown tight, and it made a painful stab of worry shoot into Ja'far's stomach.

" _What is it?_ "

He tried to move his arm, tried to lift it so he could see past Hinahoho's hand. A violent pain seared through the whole limb and he cried out in surprise, his body jolting and forcing the Imuchakk to grab hold of him lest he hurt himself.

Only then he realised that his arm wasn't hurting at all.

_No wonder Hinahoho hadn't wanted him to see_.

...

_ Control 2 _

In his entire life he had never felt this frightened before.

He had known pain. Searing pain burning through his entire body and numbing his brain until he passed out.

He had seen his beloved being taken away from him. The one he had reluctantly accepted as a mother torn away from him in a way just a gruesome as the one before her.

He had had nightmares. He had _seen_ things and _felt_ things that weren't even real.

But never had he been this aware of everything while being so out of control. Never had his body disobeyed him this thoroughly, and never had he had a reason to fear the consequences as much as now.

_Nobody noticed_.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to kick something, someone, draw attention to him and tell people _something was terribly wrong_.

Yet he walked on, his whole body relaxed, fingers folded together under his sleeves like they would always do if he walked anywhere empty handed. And nobody would think anything of the always hard working general walking through the palace this early in the morning, on his way to wake his king.

Only he knew he wouldn't be trying to wake Sinbad, no matter how much he wanted to.

He didn't want this.

He was afraid. So terribly afraid.

He was on his way to kill his king with his own two hands and he had no way to _stop himself_.

This situation was unreal. How was this possible? How did these mages control him like this and _why_?

Well, the why was clear. It was easier to let him assassinate Sinbad than do it themselves. Sinbad trusted him. _Sinbad loved him_. He wouldn't think twice about Ja'far approaching him, he wouldn't hesitate to welcome him.

_He would probably still be smiling warmly right as Ja'far slit his throat._

Every part of his brain was screaming for a response of his body as he pushed through the door to Sinbad's chambers. He immediately spotted his king in the bed, tangled in the sheets in a way that had surprised him every morning until the day he was - not so gratefully - granted the full show from falling asleep to morning.

He was oblivious. Sleeping so peacefully.

_He didn't want to hurt Sin._

He stalked forward purposefully, not even bothering to pull the sheets off as he _knew_ Sinbad was there. Whatever this spell was, it controlled him perfectly, making him act like _himself_ and not some doll. There was no way-

He screamed. But there was no sound. His lips didn't move from the gentle smile that was plastered on them all this time. _But he screamed, he cried, he wailed_.

His household vessel was in his hand with a smooth practiced motion as he stepped around the bed. He leaned over, knife poised and ready.

_Tears were falling_.

Right as his hand came down his wrist was grabbed, and with a sudden force he was pulled onto the bed. He didn't react immediately, the spell apparently not equipped for interactions. Sinbad was pinning him to the bed more awake than Ja'far had ever seen him at this time of day, the expression on his king's face confused and hurt.

_Oh, it hurt_.

"What in Solomon's name are you _doing_?"

His face remained blank, the gentle smile stuck like painted on. His mouth opened for a response calmly, even though his mind was going berserk in his attempts to scream and fight against this whole thing.

"Don't worry Sinbad. Just checking if you were still alert."

Sinbad froze at the same time as the whirlwind of panic in Ja'far's head did.

_'Sinbad'_. They made a mistake. The magicians had replied in Ja'far's stead and _they failed._

"You're crying," Sinbad pointed out tersely. "Let me help you."

Ja'far could see it. Sinbad _knew_. He would never stop being amazed by this man, and he was flooded with a warmth and a relief, the lump of fear in his stomach cramping anxiously.

His hand twisted out of Sinbad's grip, and he was mortified as the dagger flew up to the king's face. Sinbad pulled back quickly, but had the wrist pinned down with surprising ease again. Nothing on Ja'far's face betrayed is pure fear, but the tears that slowly dripped down to his calm smile.

"Let me help you," his lover whispered quietly, pressing his lips to Ja'far's unresponsive ones.

And he would thank everything alive and dead that he could at least feel the tremble in Sinbad's lips, telling him he was equally frightened now. _Because at least he wasn't alone_.


	21. Toes 5 and Gender 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems like I'm in a shippy mood, sorry. Since there will be 'Gender' again I'll once again put a big Trigger Warning for Rape aftermath.

_ Toes 5 _

He knew he was in for trouble as he saw Sinbad's face.

Of course he couldn't exactly say that was a _surprise_. He had been away for far too long, no messages sent because he was stuck in a cell being tortured or ignored. And although he was pretty sure Masrur must've sent a message ahead when they set sail back to Sindria, Sinbad couldn't possibly be pleased seeing Ja'far being carried off the ship by the Fanalis wrapped up in bandages.

Truth to be told, Masrur had listened to his plea to try dress him in something less revealing than the long night shirt that had been tied over his shoulder all this time, but after some struggling he had realised he was hurting Ja'far trying to work him into a proper shirt - no matter how hard Ja'far had been trying to hide it - and he had stopped immediately. So really, his state of undress wasn't hiding anything from his king's shocked and worried view.

"This is humiliating," he complained quietly to Masrur - who expertly ignored him after having listened to his complaints nonstop since Kou.

He sulkingly turned his head to check on Sinbad as they approached, slightly surprised they hadn't been jumped yet. Sinbad was giving a few sharp orders to a guard - looking way more panicked than was necessary at this point, the fool - and only closed the distance between them in a hurry when they had practically reached him.

"Ja'far! I'm so glad to see you alive and safe! I've ordered for a carriage to be brought so we take you directly back to the palace-" He reached out to gingerly touch Ja'far's cheek, and for a moment Ja'far wasn't feeling so irritated anymore. Even if Sinbad was overdoing it, seeing the man's worried face finally made him feel warm, dispelling a cold and deep fear Masrur hadn't been able to take care of. _He was safe again_.

"No." Sinbad visibly startled at Masrur's low denial, and Ja'far glanced up in confusion. "Ja'far is too hurt. He's not going in a carriage, I'll carry him back."

"Wait, what?" He gave Masrur an indignant look - even though he was probably right that a carriage would hurt a lot - "It wasn't enough to humiliate me by carrying me down from the ship in my underwear for half of Sindria to see? The rest of the country needs to get a view as well? I much rather go by carriage, pain be damned!"

Masrur gave him a withering glare - oh, perhaps he was getting sick of the complaining after all - and shook his head. "I'll carry you."

"Masrur, I-"

Sinbad interrupted him quickly, probably noticing Ja'far getting pissed. "Let's cover you up a little better, okay? Masrur is right, and I don't want to see you hurt even more. And I'll need you to tell me all that happened because - by Solomon - I'm going to make them pay!"

"Oh, and _now_ you're suddenly a warlord?" Ja'far rolled his eyes, clinging weakly to Masrur's neck as the Fanalis wordlessly wrapped him up in a cape proffered by a guard. "It's not worth it to start a war over a tortured adviser, you fool. I'm sure we can find a better solution-"

"You're not just my adviser," Sinbad stated violently, barely managing to keep his voice low. "And I'm pretty sure Kouen knows about that. He had his ways to gather intelligence just as I do. He knew exactly what he was starting when he decided to- to-" he broke himself off, giving a disgusted scowl instead of saying what he knew had happened.

"Sin..." Ja'far smiled wryly, conflicted about feeling happy or angry about this. He wanted to scold Sinbad for even thinking about this sort of thing, but at the same time he as deeply touched to know Sinbad cared _that_ much.

Which was exactly why he had refused Sinbad's advances for years before finally giving in. This deeper bond between them was a danger to their work and their people, easily exploited by the enemy.

But it was too late to change that now. For now he would just have to force Sinbad to be professional about this. React towards the Kou Empire as the country that tortured his adviser, not his lover. They couldn't afford to make a mistake like that.

"Sin," he repeated softly again, reaching out his working arm to draw his king in closer. Masrur stood unaffected, holding Ja'far gently in his arms as the two softly - maybe even carefully - met their lips together, using the broad Fanalis as a shield from the world. "It's okay Sin. I will be fine." He managed his most gentle smile, even though it hurt to call Sinbad back on this. "Rather than making the Kou Empire fall, teach me to stand again."

His king's face was hurt and horrified at the same time, and golden eyes flashed away towards Ja'far's now covered feet.

"Please Sin."

"...very well." He saw Sinbad slump, and it was a painful triumph. "In the end I'd much rather be there for you than go to them, after all."

And then it didn't hurt anymore. Because that sounded too perfect.

...

_ Gender 4 _

The tears just wouldn't stop, and he didn't know why.

Just because he was hurt and scared and confused didn't mean he should be sitting around crying, right? He was stronger than this!

But everything was hurting. His wrists and ankles where they had been caught in ice before, his lashed open back, his bruised stomach, his scratched thighs - _his breasts and there between his legs_.

And he was so scared. A fear that only added to the confusion of being a woman now. He shouldn't be afraid anymore, Sin was there. Sinbad was right in front of him, here to help him, hold him - avenge him? But even with Sin right in front of him he was so so scared, and he just wanted to hide from those piercing golden eyes and those _hands that were itching to touch him_.

He didn't remember ever crying like this. He was openly sobbing, rubbing at his eyes and his nose dripping. He was crying like a small child, and he just couldn't stop.

 _It was too much_.

And he had scared Sinbad too. When he had called out his name, Sinbad had pulled back and not touched him since. He could see how uncomfortable his king was, wanting to soothe him yet at the same time not daring to touch him.

Because Ja'far was scared. Because he flinched away from the one man he had always trusted, saying his name with such _fear_ it sounded unnatural.

"Please... please Ja'far, what can I do to help?"

He knew Sinbad just wanted to hold him. And he just wanted to be held. But he couldn't. Even if this was Sinbad and not Judal, he just _couldn't_.

He shook his head, his sobs only increasing in intensity at Sinbad's question. He wanted to be helped. He wanted Sin to help.

He wanted nothing more than Sin to save him.

But it was already too late. It had already been done. He was dirty and hurt, defiled and broken. Judal had used him as if he had taken Sinbad's best shirt, ripping it apart and smearing it with blood and dirt.

That's all Ja'far was worth now. A broken little thing that lost its function, no matter how good it had been before.

And the worst part was that he _knew_ Judal had cast that last spell on him. He couldn't tell Sin. He couldn't tell him he hadn't _just_ been turned into a woman. He hadn't _just_ been raped. He had been made _pregnant_ with a child nobody wanted. He didn't even know whether it would really be a child, what corruption Judal had put in that spell.

He wanted to tear himself open and rip these strange organs out. He didn't want to carry whatever monstrosity Judal had put in him. He didn't want _anything_ from Judal. He just wanted Sin.

And Sinbad was so lost. It was clear in his eyes that he had no idea what to do.

Neither did Ja'far.

"Do you want me to get Yamraiha?" Sinbad's voice was tight, like he was about to cry as well.

_He didn't want to see Yamraiha. He wanted Sin._

He sniffled loudly, useless as his face dripped with tears and snot, his torn robes on his lap soaked already. But he shook his head vehemently. No Yamraiha. Just Sin. Even if he couldn't touch him.

"But Yamraiha can help," Sinbad stressed. "And it won't be bad if she touches you right? She can help you get clean and care for your wounds. She can help better than me right now."

"No," he stated, his voice sounding like he was sulking through his sobs. "I-I don't want her. She can't clean me. I'm too dirty."

"Ja'far!" Sinbad barely raised his voice in protest, but Ja'far still flinched away from him, causing the king to quickly draw back as well. "Please," he begged, "you're no more dirty than the filth Judal left on your skin. It can all be washed away. You're not dirty now Ja'far, you're just hurt."

He gave Sinbad a weak glare, ignoring the tears for just a moment. "Leave me alone. Let me bathe."

The way Sinbad's face fell to disappointment and hurt was a new stab to Ja'far's chest, but he kept glaring. _Pushing Sin away_.

And obediently Sinbad stood, giving him one apologetic look before quietly leaving. Ja'far knew Yamraiha would be waiting outside the door when he would come out, but that was a worry for later.

For now, he just cried. Sobbing like a child. Because he was so scared it hurt.


End file.
